


The You I Get to See

by Periwinkle39



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Modern Royalty, Modern Westeros, jonsa, the royal we AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 16:14:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 69,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22169995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Periwinkle39/pseuds/Periwinkle39
Summary: Modern AU in which Sansa, the crown princess of the Northern Kingdom, falls in love with a “commoner” from another country at university—a loose, gender-swapped take on the book The Royal We, which is itself loosely based on William and Kate (except the girl is American).
Relationships: Jon Snow & Sansa Stark, Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Comments: 345
Kudos: 480





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This started out as a pic set for the "royalty" prompt during Jonsa Week: https://periwinkle39.tumblr.com/post/189266259214/jonsa-week-day-7-royalty-princess-sansa
> 
> As I was putting that together, I realized I very much wanted to write the full fic. Here is the setup:
> 
> Princess Sansa Stark is the eldest child of His Majesty King Eddard Stark and Future Queen in the North. Beautiful and charming, she has been the subject of intense media scrutiny her whole life. When it was time for her to start university, her parents wrote a public letter to members of the media, asking them to give her a wide berth while she was in school to allow her to have a normal university experience, socialize with other students and, of course, learn and prepare for her future as a queen. For the last two years, Sansa has been happy living the quiet student life, surrounded by her close-knit group of friends. When one of them decides to do a one-year exchange at a university in King’s Landing, Sansa doesn’t realize her friend’s decision will also change her life. 
> 
> Jon Snow is the son of a middle-class single mother who lives in Dragonstone. He is studying history and has won a scholarship to do a one-year exchange at Winterfell University, where he hopes to research the history of the war centuries back that resulted in the secession of the North from Westeros, the topic of his undergraduate thesis. Because of an administrative error, he was not assigned a room until the last minute, so he’s accidentally put in the recently vacated room on what university staff jokingly call “royal row”—he doesn’t know what this means or that it will change his life.
> 
> \---
> 
> This first chapter is a prologue, and the action will begin when they meet at university in the next chapter. Additional characters tags will be added as the story goes along. Let me know what you think!

**Sansa, 9 years**

“Will mother and father be back to say goodnight?” Sansa asked as she took a bite of her dinner.

“No, Miss Sansa,” replied Nanny Mordane, sitting to the left of Sansa, who was at the head of the small table in the family’s private dining room, a rare privilege allowed on this day because of her parents’ absence. Her younger sister, Arya, was on her right. “I’m afraid the day’s festivities will keep them out past bedtime.”

“But the parade’s already finished,” Arya said.

“That is true, but for your parents, there are more duties on Northern Independence Day than just being part of the parade,” Mordane answered.

“The ball!” Sansa said brightly.

“Yes, that,” Mordane said. “Among other things.”

“When will I be old enough to ride my horse in the parade with father?” Arya asked.

“Riding is done only by those who have served in the military, like you father did.”

“I could do that!” Arya said.

“Perhaps, but not for many years yet.”

Arya’s shoulders sagged.

Mordane added, “Your mother did say that you may watch a film after dinner before bed, if you can agree on which to watch.”

“Enchanted!” Sansa cried immediately.

“Not again!” Arya responded.

“This doesn’t sound like agreement,” Mordane said, knowing full well that such a state was rare for the sisters, different in just about every way but their stubbornness.

“But it’s my favorite and Arya chose last time!”

“You love Brave just as much as I do!”

“Which is why I agreed to watch it last week! Tonight, _I_ should get to choose!”

“That’s not fair! You always get to choose!”

“No, I don’t! _You_ always get to choose.”

“Girls, this is not the way to solve this. If there is no agreement, there must be an arrangement, so what will it be?”

The sisters looked at each other in a staring contest, of sorts. Mordane smiled knowingly as she watched Sansa take a deep breath—the tell tale sign she was going to give in.

“Fine, we can watch Brave, but I won’t watch it again for a year!”

“Yay!” Arya said, jumping out of her seat and running out of the room.

“To the nursery, Miss Arya,” Mordane called out, standing up. “We’ll be washing up first!”

Mordane turned back to Sansa to see her standing up and stacking her and her sister’s dishes, as always going above and beyond what was expected of her. Given that she would be a queen someday, a lot was expected.“That was generous of you Miss Sansa.”

With a smile Sansa replied, “She’ll be asleep before Queen Elinor even becomes a bear, and then we can switch it to Enchanted.”

_And clever._ “May I ask why you like Enchanted so much?” Mordane asked.

“The prince, of course!”

Mordane considered this, surprised. “He seems rather silly to me, but he does have some sincerity about him and humor.”

“You mean the one who was a cartoon first and has the big puffy sleeves. I’m talking about the other one, the one Giselle falls in love with.”

“Oh! But . . . he’s just a regular person, Miss Sansa. He’s not actually a prince.”

“I know,” Sansa replied. “He’s _Giselle’s_ prince, not anyone else’s. That’s why I like him.”

* * *

**Jon, 13 years**

“Mum?”

Lyanna startled awake. She was on the couch, having apparently fallen asleep with the television on. She had been so deep asleep it took her a moment to get her bearings, but on seeing Jon, she gestured to him immediately. “Darling, come here.”

Without hesitation, Jon walked over to his mother and cuddled into the blanket that had been covering her legs.

“Can’t sleep?” she asked.

She felt him shrug.

“Do you want to talk?”

“Not really.”

“Your father’s funeral was today, darling. Whatever it is you are feeling or thinking—there’s no right or wrong here.”

“Will I still see Rhae?”

“Of course you will. She’s your sister.”

“But her grandparents are taking her back to Dorne.”

Lyanna bit her lip. “Jon, there’s really nothing I can do about that, but I promise, we will make every effort to keep in touch.”

Jon sat up to look his mother in the eye. “She doesn’t want to go. She told me.”

“She’s gone through a lot, losing both of her parents like that. The change won’t be easy, but she’ll manage it. Her family will take good care of her.”

“What if she came to live with us? She only has, like, two years of school left before university anyway.”

“Darling, that’s impossible.”

“Why?”

Lyanna sighed. “Her grandparents are her legal guardians now. I’m . . . their deceased son-in-law’s momentary indiscretion. They’ll think I’m taking advantage of her for her money.”

“But you won’t be and she knows that!”

“Jon . . . your father put Elia in a difficult situation, but—“

“You, too!”

Lyanna smiled at his loyalty. It was true that she hadn’t known Rhaegar Targaryen was married and with a young daughter when they began their affair. She was a 23-year-old, naive and rebellious, and had fallen for the suave older man easily. In retrospect, however, there had been signs and she had been foolish not to see them. Once it was obvious what he had done, it was also obvious to Lyanna that, however young she had been, she should have known better.

“My point is,” she continued, “Elia did a very graceful thing in offering him her forgiveness and in letting you kids grow up like real siblings to each other. Her parents will honor that, but this would be asking too much, especially now that they’ve lost her.”

Jon nodded grudgingly, but Lyanna sensed that was not the end of this. “Is there anything else you want to talk about?”

“I wish I’d known him better,” Jon said quietly. “I didn’t like him all that much, but I guess I thought that might change some day. I always thought he took me for granted, but now he’s gone and it feels like I kind of took him for granted too. I don’t want to take Rhaenys for granted.”

Lyanna brought him into an embrace again and held him, her sweet, thoughtful boy. Rhaegar had been a mistake from beginning to end, but also—in an odd way—the best thing that ever happened to her. However ill-advised their liaison, it gave her Jon.

They sat quietly, mother holding son, for several minutes as he cried into her shoulder. Eventually, he pulled away, wiping his eyes. He laid back next to her, turning to see what she had been watching.

“What is this?”

“Just something I recorded from earlier. It’s Northern Independence Day today. They always have a big parade that ends with the royal family coming to the balcony at Winterfell Castle. Just wanted to see a bit of home, I suppose, after such a long day.”

“Independence from what?”

“From Westeros. Heavens, haven’t they taught you history at school?”

“I don’t know. Just Westerosi history, I suppose, not Northern.”

“Well, Northern history is Westerosi history,” Lyanna replied. “Centuries ago, it was all one big country. There was a war—I can’t remember what started it, to be honest, but it lasted something like ten years. The North declared itself a sovereign state in the middle of it, and when it finally ended, King Brandon the Broken was named king. He was a northerner, but he came south to rule in King’s Landing, and his sister was named Queen in the North after asking him to honor Northern independence. The royal family are all her descendants.”

“Westeros doesn’t have a royal family.”

“No. Brandon was the longest ruling king here. He came to be beloved—at least, history remembers him kindly—but he didn’t have children. The monarchy didn’t last long after he died.”

“But his sister did have children?”

Lyanna nodded, smiling at his curiosity. “Five or six, I believe. She was very young when she took the throne. I learned it all in school back in Winter Town, of course, but when I was at university someone published a heavily fictionalized account of her life. Everyone loved it—it was a huge best-seller. I read it so many times I forget what was true and what wasn’t. It was a bit scandalous, though. The royal family put out a statement against it, which naturally only drove up sales.”

“Why?”

“In the novel, it’s strongly implied that the father of her children was actually her bastard half-brother and not the man she married.”

“Ew!”

Lyanna laughed. “You’re too young to read it yet, but if you do someday, you’ll see that it was actually a very romantic story. Historians have always been at odds about her husband’s identity because she gave her children her own last name. Anyway, incest or not, her reign is a major era of Northern history. You might not get as much of it at school here, which is too bad really because it’s all quite fascinating. The Crown Princess Sansa is named after her, as a matter of fact.”

Just then, on the screen, the camera zoomed in on a balcony and a tall man in a fancy military uniform stepped out and waved to the crowd. He then turned and guided his wife and two young girls to a platform of some kind so that they too could see over the balcony. As the two girls waved and smiled, the crowd erupted.

“Which one is Sansa?” Jon asked.

“The one with the red hair.”

“She’s pretty.”

“She is, isn’t she? Poor girl.”

“Poor? They’re rich, aren’t they?”

“Yes,” Lyanna said contemplatively. “But . . . she won’t have much of a life. That is—she’ll get to have fancy clothes and wear tiaras and go to balls and do all kinds of princess things, but she’s required to do it all. She and Princess Arya are taught privately and likely won’t go to university either. She can’t choose to have a job or career. Her sister might, but Sansa will be a ceremonial queen and nothing else. Waving from the balcony is her life in a nutshell.”

“Doesn’t seem _that_ bad. Better than working nights like you and eating tuna out of the tin.”

“Hey, my inability to cook has nothing to do with our social status.”

Jon shrugged. “Just saying. If we were rich we could have a chef or something.”

“That’s a good point. Ours is not a fancy life, but still, we have choices. That’s important. Princess Sansa won’t even get to choose who she loves, not really.”

“Nobody does, though. Isn’t that what you always say, that love chooses for you?”

Lyanna laughed. “Clever boy,” she said ruffling his curly hair. Jon leaned away, but he was smiling. The first smile she’d seen from him that day.

* * *

**Jon and Sansa, 21 years**

Sansa tucked her face in Jon’s neck, feeling the warmth of his arms around her and thinking she had never felt this happy. It was like the feeling was surrounding her on all sides. The love had come over her these last months like the steady waves of a rising tide, and now she was awash in it.

Her mother had told her once that love wasn’t meant to be easy. What made it hard also made it gratifying, lasting. Falling for Jon had been the easiest thing to ever happen, but Sansa knew her mother would still turn out to be right. There would still be a hard part: getting to keep him. She would do everything possible to get to do that.

“You OK?” he asked quietly.

She smiled. “Never better.”

“So . . . no regrets?”

She pushed herself up on her elbow to look him in the face. “What girl in her right mind would regret multiple orgasms.”

Jon chuckled, turning away from her, a sweet sound that made her tingle all over. The slight hint of pink on his cheeks made her laugh. His face had been buried between her legs for a good while not too long ago, and here he was blushing at her reference to the pleasure he’d given her.

Settling back down on her pillow, she said, “This is usually when the boy says, ‘I can’t believed I fucked the future queen.’”

Jon turned back to face her, but where she expected him to laugh again, his expression was serious.

“I like the future queen fine.”

“Do you?” Her eyebrows quirked in curiosity as to what he meant.

“She’s clever and gorgeous. Everyone loves her and they’re right to do it.” He took her hand into his and kissed it. “Future Queen Sansa Stark is an important part of you, but there are other bits of you I like better.”

“And what are those?”

“The ones only I get to see.”

Sansa took a deep breath and felt her eyes well up with tears. Seeming to notice how his words had overwhelmed her, Jon pulled her into him again, and whispered into her ear. “I’m just talking about your tits, actually.”

Sansa let out a loud boisterous laugh that succeeded in making her cry tears of genuine joy. She wondered how it could be that she could love him even more than she did a second a go, wondered if it was actually possible to drown in it.

“They’re really quite fantastic,” he said with a grin she could feel against her neck. She closed her eyes as she felt him kiss her pulse point, the first of a trail of kisses on his way back to give the “bits” of her he loved his full attention again. She let out a moan when his tongue began circling one nipple while he squeezed the other with his hand. He pulled away for a moment, and feeling him do so, Sansa opened her eyes again to find him looking at her with those soft eyes of his.

“Sansa?”

She pushed herself up on her elbows. “What?”

“I love you.”

She leaned up to catch his lips with hers. “I love you, too."

Yes, getting to keep him would be hard, but she would no matter what.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon arrives at Winterfell University.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to everyone who read the prologue! Hope you all continue to enjoy this. 
> 
> One thing to note: The Royal We takes place in England and the royals in the book are very much based on the British monarchy. My story takes the book as inspiration, but it’s not meant to parallel anything in reality. If parts of Princess Sansa’s life don’t seem realistic it’s because they probably aren’t ;) I know next to nothing about royals, their traditions or rules. This is just me having some fun with characters I love. 
> 
> Also, this is my attempt at writing a modern version of the show’s setting with show-canon Sansa as a figure like Queen Elizabeth I, someone whose reign is revered historically and about whose personal life there is much conjecture.
> 
> Lastly, Robb and Theon are introduced in this chapter. Robb is a cousin, not a brother, to Sansa and Arya, who are Ned and Cat's only children in this story. His relationship to them and everyone else who will be in this story will be explained as it goes along. The point-of-view will be going back and forth between Jon and Sansa, staring with Jon in this chapter. 
> 
> Anyway, enjoy and let me know what you think!

**Jon, 20 years**

“ _What_?”

“I’m afraid we don’t have a room for you.”

Jon pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath. “I heard you the first time, I’m just . . . _what_?”

The young woman at the desk in the Winterfell University Residence Life Office looked back down at her computer. Jon watched her and could see that she was doing so mostly to not have to look at him, and it wasn’t like he could blame her. He had been on a plane, train or automobile since 4 a.m. that morning and probably smelled like it. The dampness from the steady rain outside had dried only slightly in the time he’d been sitting here trying to get his housing sorted. All he wanted was to get to his room and sleep until it was time for his first meeting with his advisor four days from now. 

Apparently, though, there was no room.

The girl didn’t look much older than he was, likely a student herself. She had been the only person in the office when he walked in 20 minutes before it was meant to close at 9 p.m., and she chatted him up as she checked him in. Jon might have been flattered at being flirted with (at least, he thought that's what she was doing) if he wasn’t so exhausted. When she spotted the problem, though, she quickly went from cheeky to embarrassed. Not that it was her fault. Jon was already putting the blame on his mother who had booked his ticket without consulting him for a full week before the campus officially opened for the fall term. Her reasoning had been that he could take his time getting the lay of the land—something he had appreciated until about five minutes ago.

The girl scratched her forehead. “You have no room assignment. I don’t know if it was an oversight or something else. I’ve activated your student ID, but I don’t have a key to give you. If you come back tomorrow, the director will be back and he’ll sort this all out.”

“I _know_ I have no room assignment. My paperwork has said TBD since I got it, and when I called I was told I’d be given one when I checked in, which is what I’m trying to do right now. Can’t you assign me one yourself? I don’t care where it is.”

“I’m afraid not,” she said. “I’m not authorized. If I assign you to one of the vacancies, it’ll just ask for confirmation from one supervisors and they’re all gone for the day.”

“And what am I meant to do tonight?” he asked.

She didn’t have an answer for him, only an expression of pitying discomfort.

“Is there someone you could call who is authorized?” he asked, tilting his head in an effort to look as pathetic as possible. “Please.”

She sighed. “Well . . .”

“I would be forever in your debt.”

  
“I doubt the director would appreciate a call from a work-study, but his deputy is nice and usually answers her mobile. Let me try her.”

Thank every single one of the Seven, whomever it was the girl called answered on the second ring. She turned her chair away from him, but Jon could still hear her end of the conversation. “Mrs. Ingram, I have a Jonathan Snow here. He wasn’t sent a room assignment over the summer. . . . No, he’s not a first-year. He’s a Mormont Scholar.“

Jon rubbed his face as she kept talking.

The scholarship had been Rhaenys’ idea. Since he’d started at University of Dragonstone two years before, choosing to live at home to save money, his sister had been hounding him to take some of her inheritance so that he could have a proper uni experience, which for her meant living on campus or a flat with friends, not spending all his non-class time working, going out and getting sloshed like a proper carefree young adult. But Jon insisted he was happy enough not acting like “a rich asshole,” and anyway the money was hers not his. The fact that it had been their father’s to begin with—the parent they had in common—didn’t change the fact that Jon didn’t want it.

Rhaenys was determined, however. Jon was the cleverest person she knew and she didn’t want to see all his potential wither on the vine because he was too proud and stubborn to take what was at least partly his and go out into the world the way she knew he was meant to. She stumbled upon the Mormont Scholarship Program at Winterfell University quite by accident, only a few weeks before the application deadline. That it was specifically for students of history like Jon got his attention. That it was in Lyanna’s home country got her attention. The three of them managed to pull the application together in time and celebrated together when he’d been selected. Now here he was, on Day 1 of what was meant to be an enriching and enlightening experience, wondering if he could just head back to the airport and go home. 

“You’re in luck,” the girl said finally, clearly with a reason to be chipper again.

Jon perked up, lifting his head from where it had been resting on his hands. “You have a room for me?”

“Normally, I wouldn’t be able to do this, but I interrupted dinner with a girlfriend, I think. She gave me her credentials just to get me off the phone, if I’m honest. I’ll doubt she’ll even notice which one I picked for you, but if there’s trouble, maybe she’ll remember not to leave me alone here next time.”

“Trouble? Is there going to be a problem?” Jon asked confused.

“Well, this is royal row, as we've come to call it, but it’s the only unassigned room that’s not in a dormitory for first-years or graduate students. Unless there’s a complaint, it’ll be fine and you seem nice so . . . it'll be a nice story to tell your children.”

“Uh, OK.” Jon might have probed further what she meant, but at this point, he was ready to take whatever he could get.

She handed him a key. “Pembroke is in the central quad, which you can’t drive up to, but it’s not too long a walk from here and A&S is close enough you’ll be able to roll out of bed ten minutes before your lectures.”

“A&S?”

“The Arts and Sciences Building. If you’re a Mormont Scholar, it’s history right?”

“Right.”

“Yes, so you’re going to Pembroke Hall. I’m rubbish at directions, so here’s a map. Off you go, then.”

“Thank you. I’m sorry if I was rude before.”

“No problem,” she said, resting her chin on her hands and smiling. “But if you want to buy me a coffee in thanks, I’m here all week.” 

Jon smiled nervously. “Sure. Thanks again.”

The walk to Pembroke was a soggy one, but there was a bed at the end of it, so Jon made quick work of it. Despite the late hour, he found it without too much trouble. He swiped his student ID at the door and let out a long sigh of relief when the door buzzed open. After stepping into the lobby and dropping his suitcase and rucksack where he stood, he ran his hands through his hair to shake off the excess wetness, then pulled it back into a knot at the nape of his neck. As he was doing so, he looked to his left and did a double take at a large portrait on the wall. It was a painting of the first northern queen. Jon recognized her right away with her traditional dress of grey with garnet weir wood leaves embroidered on the skirt and her crown of two wolves.

He looked down at his state and laughed. “Not exactly dressed to meet royalty,” he said aloud.

“I don’t think she minds.”

Jon turned abruptly at the sound of the voice. He hadn’t noticed her upon entering, but there was a girl sitting with her feet tucked under her and a large textbook on her lap on a sofa at the other end of the small space. She had thin wire-frame glasses on and her strawberry hair was in a messy knot, not unlike Jon’s, except hers was at the top of her head. She set her book down and came over to stand next to him to look at the painting, and he saw that she was wearing an oversized green sweater over black leggings and bare feet. Maybe it was the delirium of exhaustion, but he thought in that moment, he’d never seen a lovelier sight.

“Everyone says they put her here to watch over us, but it looks more like silent judgment to me.”

Jon took his eyes off the girl briefly to look at the painting again. “It’s Queen Sansa, first of her name, isn’t it?”

“It is.”

“That’s the crown from her coronation, which means she was about 20 years old, by which point she’d won a war and was running a country. I’m 20 and I needed my mum to get me out of bed this morning, so I’d say the judgment is earned and justified.”

The girl laughed, and Jon thought it might have been the prettiest thing he ever heard. He really needed to get some sleep.

Their eyes met again and shared a look that lasted just long enough for him to feel a bit lightheaded and trapped in her stare. She looked down, biting her lip— _Was she blushing?_ —and noticed his bags for the first time.

“Are you moving in? Would you like help?”

“Oh, um,” Jon shook his head to get his bearings. “No, that’s—“

But before he could say more, she grabbed the handle of his suitcase and started pulling. “which floor?”

“First,” Jon said, picking up his ruck sack before following her through a second set of doors into the hallway.

“Oh! Brilliant! You must be taking Alys’ room, which is across from mine. I’ll show you.”

Jon looked around as they walked. It was a small but typical dormitory hallway with rooms to the left and right of the doors they had just walked through. He followed the girl as she turned right and stopped at the end of the hall.

“You,” she said, pointing to one door. “And me,” she she, pointing to the one directly across it. She then proceeded to identify the rest of the doors as “Margaery, Jeyne, the lobby we just came through, the lounge across from that, then Robb, Theon, and Harry. You got stuck on the girls’ end, I’m afraid." Turning around, she added, "Bathroom’s just there. The hot water gives up about three showers in most mornings, just so you know.”

“Thanks,” he said, starting to feel a bit overwhelmed.

She didn't seem in a hurry to leave, though. “Alys is gone for the year to King’s Landing," she said. "Is that where you’re from?”

“Dragonstone,” he answered.

“I wondered if someone would move in while she was gone, but we were told it would stay empty.”

Jon shrugged. “It may have been meant to stay empty, and it may be yet, judging from how oddly the girl at the Residence Life Office was acting. They forgot to assign me a room, so she took pity on me. I may also have agreed to a date, but I’ve been up since before the sun, so everything is starting to blur together. I’m just glad I have a place to sleep tonight.”

She smiled again and Jon might have wondered if he had just fallen asleep on his feet and was currently dreaming. “Well, I hope you can stay.” 

“Me too—I mean, uh, yeah. Thanks.” Her smile turned into a grin and Jon felt himself blushing.

“Right, well, I’ll leave you to it, uh . . .”

“Jon. I’m Jon.”

“Sansa,” she said, sticking her hand out. “It was lovely to meet you.”

“Me too. Er, you too.” Jon rubbed the back of his neck and laughed at himself. “Likewise. . . . oh, um, _Sansa_ —like the queen."

She shrugged sheepishly. "It's a popular name 'round here."

"I suppose it would be."

Before he could say anything else to embarrass himself further, she turned and walked back down the hall to the lobby, turning to look back at him before she went through the doors. He hadn’t moved and felt like a right idiot watching. She was still smiling, now biting her lip as she did so, walking through the doors out of his sight.

“Get a fucking grip, Snow,” he muttered to himself as he opened the door to his room. He pulled his suitcase and left it just inside the door and dropped his ruck sack at the foot of the bed before falling on it. He might have fallen asleep immediately on the bare mattress except he heard an urgent knock on the door. Brow furrowed, he stood again to open it.

“This is the last time we’ll knock,” were the words that greeted him. Two guys about his age pushed in and while one stopped in the middle of the room and turned around to stand with his arms crossed and give Jon a once over, the other started searching around the room as if looking for a lost article of some kind.

“So you’ve met her, good.”

“Excuse me?”

“The princess. We’ve gotten that out of the way. She doesn’t like to be called princess by the way or your highness. Don’t ask for photos, don’t try to take photos, don’t call the paparazzi. In short, don’t do anything that would cause Theon or myself to kick your ass.”

Jon looked back and forth between the two, utterly confused. “I’m sorry, can you explain what you are talking about and what the hell he—is it Theon?—is doing?”

“I’m looking for Alys’ stash,” Theon answered. “I _know_ she left it in here.”

“Her what?”

“Her stash. Pot. Marijuana. Green—what are the kids wherever you’re from calling it these days?”

Theon had just stepped into the closet, and before Jon could say anything Theon let out a yelp. “Aha! That minx! I knew she hid it in here.”

“Who are you and what are you doing here—other than finding.. . um, what you’re finding?”

“I’m Robb,” the first one to have spoken said, extending his hand to Jon. “This is Theon. Everyone else will be here by next weekend. We just wanted to say hi and lay down the ground rules.”

“Um, noted?” Jon said, still confused and growing annoyed. "Ground rules for what?"

Theon started laughing suddenly. “He didn’t know.”

“Know _what_?”

“The girl you were just speaking to in the lobby is Crown Princess Sansa Stark, daughter of King Eddard and heir to the Northern crown,” Robb said.

“Congratulations on not making an ass of yourself in front of her," Theon said. "It’s actually no easy feat. We know. We've witnessed.”

Jon thought back to just minutes ago and the girl in the lobby.

_Sansa_.

_Crown Princess Sansa Stark._

_Shit._

_SHIT._

The realization hit him like a sledgehammer.

“There it is,” Robb said with a smirk.

“Seven hells," Jon said, shaking his head. "I didn’t even—how did I not recognize her?”

“I know, right,” Robb said. “She’s weirdly and disarmingly normal.”

“Also totally unaware that we get high from time to time, so don’t tell her.”

“Shut up, Greyjoy. Everyone knows you and Alys smoke pot.” Turning back to Jon, Robb added. “Welcome to 1st Pembroke. We'll take you out for a pint tomorrow, if you're up for it. If you’re going to be living here, we might as well get to know you.”

“OK.”

“Well, goodnight,” Robb said, shaking his hand again and pulling Theon by the arm.

Jon chuckled watching them go. He sat back down on the bed and pulled out his phone, typing in “Princess Sansa” into Google.

And there she was. Unmistakable and yet completely different.He scrolled through dozens of images, most of them formal portraits in which she was posing alone, with her sister and/or her parents, or action shots of her with her family in parades or what looked like events of state. Jon looked for several minutes, but didn’t see a single photo in which she appeared as he had seen her: glasses, top knot, leggings. “Weirdly and disarmingly normal” was right. 

Also, fucking _gorgeous_. The Internet did not do her justice.

Jon smiled to himself, thinking how tickled his mother and sister would be at the fact that the second person he’d met on campus was royalty. At some point, in his preparation for the trip, Lyanna had mentioned that the princess was a student too and joked that maybe he’d see her across campus. Apparently, she lived across the hall from him. He considered calling his mother, but if he told her or Rhae now, they’d want every detail possible and keep him up for hours when all he wanted was sleep. So he only sent each a text to let them know he had made it in one piece, and then with the last of his energy, pulled his sleeping bag out of his rucksack, stripped down to his boxers and fell asleep.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa meets Jon and gets to know him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few notes:
> 
> -To give an understanding of how the show canon world evolved into this “modern” one (and explain a few passing references in this chapter): the seat of government in the North eventually moves to White Harbor, which grew in importance over the years as a trading port. As power moved away from the monarchy to a democratically elected parliament over the centuries, eventually a “symbolic” move was made to White Harbor as the capital city instead of Winterfell. The royal family followed, moving their primary residence there also symbolically to show that it was willing to be led by the people. The castle at Winterfell was turned into the university. The campus has grown since then, but some of the original buildings are part of the central quad where Jon and Sansa live. The Knight’s Watch became absorbed into the army of the North and Castle Black eventually became an Army officers training college (like West Point or Sandhurst). All men in the royal family went there because military service was expected. Arya, being the fighter we know and love, wants to go there as well. 
> 
> -Gendry is in this story as Robert’s legitimate son, Gendry Baratheon, so that Arya has a parentally pre-approved romantic option to up the angst when Sansa falls for one who is not. He’ll still be the same low-key, no frills guy despite being upper class. 
> 
> -Lastly, Jon and Sansa are the same age, though she is a few months older. Arya and Gendry are two years younger. 

**Sansa, 17 years**

“Arya, wait!” Sansa whispered quietly as her sister ran ahead of her up the carpeted stairs of the royal residence in White Harbor.

“We’re going to miss everything if you don’t hurry up!” Arya replied, taking less care to be quiet as she opened the door to the upstairs library and ran for the corner of the room. After pushing an arm chair and small table aside, she crouched down and put her ear to the air vent on the floor.

“Can you hear anything?” Sansa whispered as she crouched down next to her sister, who had discovered the acoustic quirk that allowed for eavesdropping on conversations happening in their father’s private office one floor below quite by accident as a small child.

“Yes, so be quiet!”

The voices were far away, but they could be heard if you were listening for them, and on this occasion—a visit by the chancellor of Winterfell University to discuss with the king and queen the suitability of the crown princess’ potential admission—Sansa and Arya were definitely listening.

“I can understand your concerns, your majesties,” Chancellor Lewin could be heard saying in a clear articulate baritone. “But it’s not a situation without precedent. Many children of members of parliament have been Winterfell students. The challenges would be different with the princess, but I’m sure our Security Office would be up to the task, and very willing to coordinate with the officers on your detail.”

Arya leaned in closer to the vent as Ned said something brief and unintelligible. Arya shrugged, looking back at Sansa.

Then, the chancellor’s voice could be heard again. “To be honest, my own biggest concern about the possibility is . . . well, academic.”

“Oh, but she’s been well educated,” Catelyn replied quickly.

“I don’t doubt that, but her schooling is untraditional—at least by the standards of our student body. To this point, it has catered to your specifications and her interests. Will she be up to the rigors of our curriculum? Will she keep up when a professor doesn’t stop a lecture just to make sure she understands? Our undergraduate college is the most selective in the country and rivals the best universities in Westeros as well. I would not recommend it for her if her interest is only about having the experience of being a student in a dormitory. _That_ she can do anywhere. At Winterfell, she must prepare to work hard and be challenged in ways I imagine she never has before. Study is something she must take seriously.”

“I do share that concern,” Ned said, and on hearing her father say these words, Sansa rolled her eyes. She sat back, hitting her head against the wall in frustration. “He’s right. I’m not cut out for it. I might have been if we’d been allowed to go to a real school.”

Arya didn’t answer, still trying to listen. “They’re talking about where you’d live now.”

“It’s OK. You can stop listening.”

“Why do you even want to go there? There _are_ other colleges, easier ones.”

“If I’m going to uni, I want to go to the best one. Wouldn’t you want to be sure the queen is clever enough?”

Arya shrugged. “Clever enough for what? You’re not actually running the country, and you don’t have to prove anything to anyone.”

“I know, but I have a role to play, and even if it’s ceremonial, it’s important—at least, I want it to be. I don’t want it to be meaningless, otherwise that means my life is meaningless. _You_ get a measure of choice, at least. I don’t.”

“Please don’t start that again or I’ll be forced to remind you that father hasn’t agreed on active duty.”

“But you get to be in the Army, which is what you want. I wish it were what I wanted so then it would all be simple and father wouldn’t look at me like a foreigner just because I have different interests than he does and I want a real degree.”

“He doesn’t look at you that way.”

“He doesn’t get me is the point.”

“He wouldn’t have invited the chancellor here if he wasn’t considering this—or do you think he’d waste the time of such an important person like that.”

Sansa sighed.

“I think you’re scared, and there’s nothing wrong with that,” Arya said. “Now that this is a thing that may happen it’s on _you_ , not father, if you fail. I’d be scared shitless, to be honest.”

This at least brought a smile to Sansa’s face. She looked back down at the air vent through which muffled voices could still be heard. “They can’t hear _us_ , can they?”

Arya shrugged again. “How should I know.”

Sansa rolled her eyes and stood back up, gesturing for her sister to move so they could put the furniture back in place.

“Gendry is coming over later to play video games if you want to join us,” Arya said as they made their way back out of the library and into the hall. “Might take your mind off things.”

“Thanks, but Jeyne is home, so I think she’s going to pop by. Speaking of Gendry, though, have you kissed him yet?”

“Ugh, what?”

Sansa laughed. “What are you waiting for!?! He clearly has a crush on you and despite what you may say I can tell the feelings are very much requited.”

“We’re just friends!”

“Someday, I’m going to record you in secret so you can see the way you look at him.”

“I look at him like he’s a daft prick, because that’s what I think most of the time.”

“Agreed! That’s how you show affection!” Sansa turned to look at her sister in the face. “See, it’s how you’re looking at me right now and I know you love me.”

With a roll of her eyes, Arya turned to walk away. “Sod off.”

“I love you, too!”

Sansa headed the opposite direction from her sister and back down the stairs. The nerves hit her again as she made it to the door of her father’s study and sat on the bench outside of it waiting for the end of the meeting that would decide how she would spend the next few years and maybe decide the rest of her life.

It was only another fifteen minutes or so before her parents and the chancellor stepped out. Catelyn smiled on seeing Sansa there, and she noticed her daughter’s nerves immediately. Sansa was quite self-possessed though, so the nerves were less obvious to Chancellor Lewin, whom she greeted warmly when her father gestured for her to do so.

“It’s an honor to meet you, your highness,” he said with a slight bow. “However your academic pursuits unfold, I commend your ambition.”

“Thank you, sir,” Sansa said. “It seems odd to me that I would be the first to go to university, but I suppose it’s true that change doesn’t happen overnight.”

“Well, the education Castle Black offered your father and his father is nothing to sneeze at, and our expectations of a queen have changed considerably over the several generations since we’ve had one. You are setting a new course and, I think, a wonderful example.”

“Thank you, chancellor,” Ned said, shaking his hand. “You’ve given us a great deal to think about.”

“Sansa will you walk him out please,” Catelyn said.

“Of course.”

The graying man bowed once more to Ned and Catelyn. “Your majesties.”

Sansa curtsied to her parents, then led him out into the main hall where footmen were waiting to call the car that had brought him to the palace.

“I appreciate your speaking with my parents, sir,” she said. “I hope you didn’t have to travel to White Harbor just to make this visit.”

“No, I had other meetings here. The king’s secretary was kind enough to wait until I had other reason to travel, but my own daughter lives here. She makes every trip here worthwhile.”

“I’m glad they followed your schedule in any case. This always sounds disingenuous when I say it but I don’t want special provision to be made for me.”

Chancellor Lewin smiled.

“And speaking of that,” Sansa said more hesitantly. “I know that people may come to believe that I will have taken a spot from a more deserving student just because of who I am if I enroll at Winterfell, so I was thinking that when the time comes for me to apply that I could do so under an assumed name.”

The chancellor frowned. “I am not sure that would be a good idea, your highness.”

“But wouldn’t it . . .even the playing field, as it were.”

He thought for a moment. “Perhaps, but only if the playing field were truly even for everyone. I’m afraid that is not the case. There are many reasons it is not that neither you nor I can address merely with anonymity. There are students who are of great means who apply—some rivaling the wealth of the royal family—and some who apply with nothing at all. It is our duty in our admission process to try to see who the student is and determine whether he or she will contribute positively to our learning community. We cannot consider that if we don’t know who our applicants are. Everything about ourselves is informed by our circumstances. Yours are unique, to be sure, but they are yours and essential to who you are. One cannot know the person without knowing the princess.”

Sansa nodded, feeling rather helpless and embarrassed. “I suppose I’m just nervous.”

“That’s something most prospective students would sympathize with and quite normal,” he said with asmile. “But you have time to prepare—more if you take a gap year.”

“My whole life has been a gap year.” She took a deep breath. “Thank you, chancellor.”

Behind him, a footman approached and said, “The car is here, sir.”

Sansa and the chancellor followed the footman to the drive, where another was waiting with the door to the car open for the chancellor to step in.

“I wish you the best of luck, highness,” he said with a bow. “And I hope to see you on our campus—for your betterment and for ours.”

She smiled. “I hope for the same.”

* * *

**Sansa, 21 years**

“So all you’ve done for two weeks is running and push ups, basically,” Sansa said, leaning into the window of her dorm room watching the rain outside as she spoke with Arya, who was filling her in on her new life at Castle Black.

“And sit ups.”

“Seven hells. It sounds like torture.”

Arya laughed on the other end of the line. “It’s _awesome_. I might actually come home with a six pack.”

“How’s Gendry doing?”

“Dying, the softie.”

“He’s only there for you.”

“Not entirely. Robert also would have made him come here. Baratheon men tradition and all that. He says I make it tolerable.”

“Total softie,” Sansa said with a laugh. “But I hope you _are_ making it tolerable for him—and yourself.”

“Absolutely no sex until after physical training so we both stay focused.”

“Harsh.”

“I was going to hold out until the end of the first term, but I _am_ human.”

“Well, speaking from experience, dry spells are survivable.”

“San, if it doesn’t end soon, I’m putting you on a dating app.”

“On that note, I’m hanging up.”

“Seriously, hasn’t this gone on long enough? Harry does not deserve this long a mourning period.”

“This isn’t about Harry. I don’t need to hook up every other weekend. I came here to learn, not to find a husband."

“Unlike every single one of your friends—“

“Arya—“

“Anyway, that doesn’t mean you can’t have fun.”

“I _am_ having fun.”

“OK, what are you doing tonight?”

“I just ordered food, so I’m going to wait in the lobby and then re-read the geography book from my geopolitics seminar last semester.”

“Classes haven’t even started yet.”

“I have a mental block for geography, and I _need_ to get it or else I won’t be able to apply for an honors thesis.”

“Do I need to say more?”

“Arya, I live for nights like this. I _need_ nights like this. That’s why I came up early. Pembroke is my literal happy place. I couldn’t be wearing leggings right now if I were still at home. You know how mum is.”

“Fair.”

“And I’m not pining for Harry, honestly. That relationship—if one should even call it that—barely lasted longer than he does in bed, which is to say _not long_.”

Arya practically cackled. “Wow, TMI, but also burn.”

“Marge comes back tomorrow and will fill my going out quota soon enough. I need to recharge before she gets here.”

“Also fair. All right, fine. Go be your nerdy self.”

Sansa smiled. “And you go be your badass warrior self.”

“Take care, San.”

After hanging up, Sansa picked up the three-inch text like the burden it was, walked to the lobby and plopped down on the couch with a happy sigh. This really was her happy place.

Pembroke Hall was one of the smaller residences on campus, and Sansa was going on her third year there. Her father had insisted on having a hand in her living situation, and asked that she at least stay in the same place all four years, to make it easier for his security to keep a presence on campus without being overly obvious. Although she usually chaffed when “special treatment” was offered, this was one area where she didn’t mind having given in. She loved the building—and her small room within it. The structure, which had been renovated many times over the centuries it had stood, was among the oldest not just at the university but in the entire Northern kingdom. It had served once as part of the fortress her ancestors, including the queen she was named for, called home. Her friends had been allowed to fill in the rooms around her. Again, for security reasons, but also, again a privilege that Sansa welcomed. 

She had come back last week, moving back in on the first day the dormitories officially re-opened for the fall term. Her parents would normally have put up a fuss about her always wanting to come back to so early. This year, however, they were moving Arya into the Royal Military Academy at Castle Black, where the unabashed tomboy and committed daddy’s girl had always wanted to go to follow in her father’s footsteps.

Sansa had only just opened her book when she heard the click of the door that signified someone had swiped their ID to come in. She remembered that Robb and Theon were meant to move in back in today, though she had not seen them yet. But when the door opened, it wasn’t Robb and Theon. It was, in fact, someone she had never seen before.

He was wet from the rain and his shoulders were slumped in a way that suggested he’d had a long day. His body was lean and his hair was a cascade of black curls that he shook out in a way she found oddly sexy and then pulled back into a bun as she watched him. He turned to face away from her, and Sansa wondered if jeans had ever made anyone’s back side look this good. He was looking at the portrait of the queen who was her namesake. It was a copy—the original hung locked to the wall in the administrative building that centuries ago had been the queen’s home—but even so the painting was quite large and its subject made for an imposing figure.

“Not exactly dressed to meet royalty,” he said aloud.

Sansa smiled. He still hadn’t noticed she was there, and suddenly rather eager to be noticed, she found herself saying, “I don’t think she minds.”

He was handsome, yes. Many people would say as much about him over the coming years, but the thing that struck Sansa about his face when looking at him straight on for the first time was that he looked kind. It was that more than anything else that compelled her to stand up and approach him.

“Everyone says they put her here to watch over us, but it looks more like silent judgment to me,” Sansa said, expressing with honestly for once what she had always thought of the painting.

He turned to look at the painting again, giving Sansa a chance to look at his profile up close. His eyes and his mouth made it look like he was sad in a way she found terribly endearing.

“It’s Queen Sansa, first of her name, isn’t it?”

“It is.”

“That’s the crown from her coronation, which means she was about 20 years old, by which point she’d won a war and was running a country. I’m 20 and I needed my mum to get me out of bed this morning, so I’d say the judgment is earned and justified.”

The laughter came out of her suddenly and unceremoniously. It was rare that someone took her by surprise like that. People were always so measured around her and her family that eliciting a reaction like that, a feeling expressed by her so unguardedly out of shock, was rare.

It occurred to her that he didn’t know who she was, and she felt the sudden and powerful urge to kiss him just so that she could do so before he recognized her. She felt her cheeks flush at the thought. He looked into her eyes for a good long moment and Sansa found herself realizing that the phrase “weak in the knees” wasn’t the hyperbole she once thought. She eventually looked down, unable to hold his stare and noticed that he had bags with him.

_He’s going to live here?_ “Are you moving in?” she asked, trying to sound calm and cool about it. “Would you like help?”

“Oh, um. . . . no, that’s—“

“Which floor?” _Please say first. Please say first. Please say first._

“First.”

_Thank you, Seven._ “Oh! Brilliant! You must be taking Alys’ room, which is across from mine. I’ll show you.”

She pulled his suitcase into the hallway and led him to the only empty room on the floor. Last spring, she’d whined to Alys for a week when her friend announced she was leaving for Westeros for a year abroad. Now Sansa made a mental note to send Alys a large bouquet of flowers.

After she pointed out where everyone lived, they exchanged further pleasantries—and their names. Sansa felt cheeky suggesting her name was a common one, which wasn’t exactly true. He’d learn who she was soon enough and the moment of their meeting perhaps wouldn’t matter all that much in the long run. Not everyone was enamored with the idea of royalty in these modern times. Plenty had taken advantage of her accessibility these last few years to point out that very thing to her. But even if Jon— _Jon_ —was such a person, he seemed too nice to say so. Anyway, he was from somewhere else, even though he looked very much like a Northerner to her, so it was likely that he didn’t know her background or care.

Sansa pulled herself away, finally, sure she would make a right fool of herself if she remained in his presence any longer. Her cheeks felt so warm that it was possible they matched her hair at this point. When she walked back to the lobby, she tried very hard not to turn around to look at him again. She did, of course, but found herself delighted to see that he was also still looking at her.

As she stepped back into the lobby, she heard the click of the front door again and Robb and Theon came in.

“Hey, San!” Robb said coming up and pulling her into a hug. “Long time no see.”

“I saw you two weeks ago, Robb.”

“I have decided to block all memory of Aunt Lysa’s birthday party from my mind.”

“Probably wise,” Sansa said with a laugh. “Uncle Brynden was in rare form.”

“Tullys can’t stomach their whisky, no matter what he says.”

“Your dad was drunk?” Theon asked after also giving Sansa a hug. "I didn't know that was a thing that could happen."

“I lost track of how many bottles he finished off," Robb said, "but in his defense, Aunt Lysa is at her worst on her birthday—at least, I think. Like I said, I’ve chosen to block it from my mind.”

“By the way," Sansa said, "someone just moved into Alys’ room.”

Theon’s eyes widened in excitement. “Her room is unlocked?!”

“Yes?”

Theon immediately pushed past the doors to the hallway.

"What was that about?" Sansa asked.

"You'll regret asking," Robb said, already in pursuit. “I best go rein him in.”

A few minutes later, Sansa’s food arrived and she went back into her room. Before closing her door, she looked at Jon’s door and smiled, wondering what kind of year this would turn out to be.

* * *

Sansa was up early the next morning to go for a run, but as she went past the lounge on her way out, she noticed Jon standing at the vending machine.

She stopped to watch him. He looked showered and sharp and even better than he had yesterday. His hair was down again, still wet from the shower.

After a minute, he turned slightly and did a double take on spotting her. His expression, a mix of surprise and embarrassment, confirmed what she had already assumed, that Robb and Theon had told him who she was when they’d introduced themselves the night before.

She smiled self-consciously. “Good morning.”

“Oh, hi, Sa—I mean, um—”

“Sansa.” 

“Right. It’s not that I forgot your name. I actually—”

“It’s OK. You don’t have to say anything about it.”

He laughed and looked down. “I’m just surprised I didn’t—”

“Honestly, it’s fine,” she cut in. “To assure that it’s fine, may I suggest a healthier breakfast?”

Looking back at the vending machine and its array of candy and chocolate, Jon laughed. “Yeah. I thought I’d get something to hold me over until I found somewhere I could get real food.”

“I was going to go get a coffee myself,” Sansa found herself saying. “I can show you what’s around here, if you’d like?"

Jon immediately looked down as if questioning what he was wearing: a University of Dragonstone T-shirt and athletic shorts.

“Not exactly dressed to meet royalty?” she teased.

He looked back up at her with a smile so sweet, Sansa once again felt the strong desire to kiss him. “No.”

“Well, I’m not dressed much better. I think you’re safe.”

“All right.”

Sansa went back to her room to get her wallet, and if Jon noticed the incongruence of her saying she’d been going out for coffee and the fact she didn’t have money with her, he didn’t say anything.

Despite the rain the day before, the morning was bright and sunny. The kind of weather that university brochures were made for. It was so early, just past seven in the morning, and it being before the arrival of most students yet, it felt as if they were alone on campus.

“Are you an early riser?” Sansa asked.

“Not really,” Jon said, with a chuckle. “I think it was the hunger more than anything. You?”

“I’m afraid I am. It’s very rare that anyone else on the floor is up for breakfast. Blame my mother. She never let my sister and I sleep past eight o’clock when we were kids.”

They walked quietly, with Sansa occasionally pointing out what certain buildings along the way until they made it to the commons. There was a companionable silence between them that neither seemed eager to break. Sansa thought at first that it was because he now felt awkward around her, knowing who she was, but after a while, catching glimpses of him walking next to her every so often, it was clear that he, like her, was happy to defer to the stillness of the morning.

Twenty minutes or so after having walked out of Pembroke, they walked into a cafe called “Old Nan’s” and ordered coffees and ham and cheese croissants. When they were served Jon bit into his and let out a moan that made Sansa laugh and also wonder what kind of sounds he made in bed.

“I’m sorry,” he said when he’d managed to swallow the huge bite he’d taken. “That was indecent.”

“I’m glad it’s hitting the spot.”

Their eyes locked for a moment, as Sansa’s blush grew at the double entendre and she sputtered out a laugh before she could hold it in. “ _I’m_ sorry.”

Jon laughed too and turned away, so all Sansa saw were his ears turning pink and the way his eye crinkled when he grinned.

After a moment, she gestured to the patio and asked if he wanted to sit down. The cafe was empty but for their presence and the two teenagers working behind the counter. Jon ordered another croissant and then the two settled in and ate, again in companionable silence for several minutes. 

“I should mention,” he said, quietly. “My mum was born and raised in Winter Town.”

“Ha! I knew there was some of the North in you.”

“It gets better. Her name is Lyanna and our surname is Snow, quite a laugh growing up in a town full of people who’ve never seen the stuff. Myself included.”

Sansa put her hand on his arm and offered very seriously, “First Pembroke will be throwing you a party when the first winter storm hits, Jon Snow, son of Lyanna. I hope you came prepared.”

He laughed for a moment before continuing. "She left when she was really young. When I was a kid, she used to bring home society magazines from the waiting room at the doctor’s office where she worked. Reading about your family made her think of home. I know most of those magazines are full of rubbish, but I did know what you looked like, and she’ll be mortified to know I didn’t recognize you straight away.”

Sansa smiled. She’d have been happy if he never acknowledged who she was, but somehow what he shared, his sincerity, made her feel good.

“I don’t mean to embarrass you,” Jon added. “And I’m sure it’s odd to hear someone you’ve never met saying your family means a lot to them, but it was a way for her to connect the place she was from without having to think about the bridges she burned on the way out.”

“It’s nice of you to say.” Sansa took a sip of her coffee. “My parents are always going on about the monarchy offering comfort and reassurance to people, but it always feels self-serving when _they_ say it.”

Jon took another bite of his croissant, and Sansa watched him and thought about what he’d said. Hearing him talk about her position and her family in such a genuine way was . . . different. Since she’d come to university, Sansa had met two kinds of people, those who didn’t acknowledge who she was at all and those who were abjectly deferential and would look at her and not see anything but her position. Jon had managed a middle ground that very few did, outside of her very close friends—and they did mostly because they already inhabited world she lived in or because they were family like Robb.

“So you’ve never been to the North before then?” she asked.

“No. Mum left not really wanting to come back. The little family she had is gone now. She always talked about bringing me, but when it came down to it, the timing wasn’t right or there wasn’t money . . . I think she’s just afraid the whole ‘you can’t go home again’ thing.”

“How does she feel about you coming on your own?”

“Oddly enough, she was supportive. Especially because I won a scholarship to do it. And anyway, she’s the reason I started studying Northern history, so she couldn’t possibly blame me for coming here.”

"Wait, are you a Mormont Scholar? That's amazing."

Jon shrugged, obviously embarrassed. 

“I’m doing a history degree as well—history and art.”

“Separately or together?”

Sansa smiled at the way he rested his chin on his hand, as if he really was interested in her answer. “Together. I have this dream of writing a book about how the various cultures around Westeros before the War for Independence influenced the way Queen Sansa dressed throughout her life, and how that in turn influenced Northern culture. People love nothing more than to scrutinize everything my sister and I wear in ways that are infantilizing and infuriating, as if fashion wasn’t a political tool women have deployed for centuries. I want to subvert that narrative.” She paused for a moment. “I know it probably sounds silly.”

“Not at all,” Jon said. “It’s one of the things she was known for, isn’t? Everything she wore meant something.”

Sansa nodded excitedly. “That’s right.”

“Don’t think I’m going to let you get away with calling the War of the Five Kings ‘the War for Independence’ though.”

Sansa laughed. “The Song of Ice and Fire or whatever that manuscript was called was written by a southerner for the south. We wrote our own history.”

“Even though independence wasn’t what prompted Northern involvement in that conflict?”

“That depends on who you ask.”

Jon laughed. “My advisor back home says history is the longest-running game of choose your own adventure, so . . . touché.”

Just then one of the servers came over to their table and topped off their coffee cups. Noticing, both of them looked up. The young man shrugged. “I’m sorry did you not want a refill?”

Sansa smiled. “We did. Thanks.”

The young man, who couldn’t have been older than sixteen, blushed furiously on realizing who Sansa was and quickly turned and walked away.

Sansa and Jon chuckled and picked up their cups. After taking a sip, they kept talking.

It was nearly an hour later when they finally left Old Nan’s and made their way back to Pembroke. When they got back, before going in, Sansa stopped and said, “Why don’t you let me take your picture here so you can send it to your mum.”

Jon scratched the back of his neck nervously. “Um, OK.” He dug his phone out of his pocket and handed it to her. “Fair warning, deeply awkward and uncomfortable is my default setting and pictures make that especially obvious.”

Sansa laughed and turned to move far enough away so that she could get the full archway over the door in the picture —and so that she could discretely text her own phone from his. She took several photos and laughed when he looked at them. “You can choose between one with your eyes closed and one in which you look like someone kicked your puppy.”

“I told you. I don’t take good photos.”

On a whim, Sansa tapped the selfie button, put her arm around him and took another photo. She did it so quickly, Jon barely had time to register what had happened. When she looked at this photo, he was smiling, looking at her. “There! That’s a good one!”

“If I send mum this, she’ll frame it.”

“It would be an honor,” Sansa said. Oddly enough, she meant it. She texted the picture to herself, then handed the phone back to him.

They walked back inside together. When they got to their doors, Jon said, “Thanks for showing me around.”

Sansa opened her door, looked back at him smiling and then closed it. She took out her phone and, leaning against the door, opened her texts to reply to the ones she had sent herself from his phone.

_You’re welcome_ , she texted back.

She grinned as she heard his phone buzz on the other side of her door.

What a year would it turn out to be.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon gets to know more of the gang. And makes a prophetic bet with his sister.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In a flashback, we meet Rhaenys and get to know her dynamic with Jon. (It's not unlike mine and my little brother who came into my life not unlike Jon came into Rhaenys' so the writing of it feels very personal to me.) The Targaryan/Snow/Martell family dynamic will continue to unroll through flashbacks and as we get to know Jon in the present.
> 
> Speaking of the present, it picks up in Jon's point of view right where we left things with him and Sansa. We meet more of the 1st Pembroke hall mates and start to see the found family dorm life dynamics. This is a university AU as much as it is a modern royalty AU, so I hope you guys enjoy the antics these kids will get up to. As a reminder, Sansa and Arya's level of fame here is equivalent to William and Harry so even people outside of the North would know who they are. Lastly, the historical romance about the first Queen Sansa (aka canon Sansa) mentioned in the very first chapter comes up again here. 
> 
> Enjoy and please let me know what you think!

**Jon, age 15**

His seat was in the very back of the airplane, so it took Jon a good fifteen minutes to make his way out of the plane. It was another twenty just walking through the airport to the main terminal and baggage claim. Dorne was a much larger place than Dragonstone and the airport made that obvious. The signs were clear, though, and the crowd moved fast. When he finally walked through the last set of doors that opened up to the area where arriving passengers were received, Rhaenys was easy to spot, mostly because of the huge sign she was holding over her head, which read “LITTLE BROTHER” and featured a picture Jon recognized of himself at age four smiling and wearing his school uniform, which at the time included short pants and knee socks.

It was her favorite picture of him and, in her words, “the last good picture” ever taken of him.

He laughed as he walked over to her, dropped his bag and gave her a bear hug that lifted off her feet.

“No fair!” She said laughing. “You’re not allowed to be taller than me! When did that happen?!” Rhaenys held on to his shoulders to get a good look at him when he set her down and pulled away. “And what is your hair doing?”

Jon shrugged. It didn’t quite reach his collar, but it was longer than Rhaenys had ever seen it and as curly and unruly as ever. “Haven’t cut it in a while.”

“Clearly.” After a moment, she added, “It suits you, though.”

“So are your grandparents outside?”

Her smile turned into a grin and she lifted up a set of keys. “Turns out, graduation comes with big perks. Come on, Jon-boy.” She grabbed his arm and pulled him along, and Jon pulled his bag behind him.

“Not sure how I feel about getting into a car you’re driving.”

Rhaenys laughed. “Why, do you think bad driving runs in the family?”

Jon stopped short. “Oh, gods, Rhae, I—“

She shook her head with a smile. “Jon, I’m _joking_. Seven hells.”

His shoulders relaxed somewhat but his frown did not.

“I’ve been making bad driving jokes all week to granny’s utter delight, I’m sure. Between my dark humor and your perpetual sad face, we’re a walking party.” Taking a deep breath, she added. “I’ll stop making them, if you really want me to.”

Jon cracked a smile. “I would never ask you to be anything other than your charming self.”

“Same here.”

Eventually, they made it out of the airport, and into Rhaenys’ car, a small, trendy two-seater that seemed to suit her very well. It was still early in the afternoon, so she suggested dropping his things at her grandparents house before going out for dinner. Dr. and Mrs. Martell, to Jon’s great relief, were out of the house when they arrived. Although they had never been expressly unkind to Jon, he knew that his continued presence in Rhaenys’ life was something they put up with and did not—would not—understand. That Rhaenys insisted on inviting her little brother to visit every year despite the obvious fact that it took convincing each time was something that Jon would never take for granted.

They went to dinner at a small hole-in-the-wall place a fifteen-minute drive from the tony neighborhood in which the Martells lived for what she said was the best Dornish food outside of her own. Rhaenys’ mother, Elia Martell Targaryen had always loved to cook and spent all of her time in the kitchen experimenting on variations of the traditional Dornish fare her own mother had taught her to cook. Rhaenys held no such interests until her parents died and she realized that cooking was the only way she felt she could think about her mother and not cry. In the last two years, she’d mastered just about every recipe her mother and grandmother had ever bothered to jot down and a few more besides. Though he would never admit it to his own mother, Jon had loved Elia’s cooking and loved what he’d tasted of Rhaenys’ even more. 

Once they had put in their order at the counter, they sat down at a small table just outside. The sidewalks were full of people and the warm air of early summer added to the atmosphere. Rhae looked as happy as he had ever seen her, and Jon felt happy and proud of her. That she’d made it through her adolescence and was now ready to take on adulthood so well adjusted, despite the huge loss she had been through.

“So I have some big news to share,” she said, after taking a sip of her drink.

“Oh? What’s that?”

“I’m coming home!”

“What? But I thought you’d settled on going to KLU.”

Rhaenys sighed. “At first, but honestly, I was just trying to pick a place to get as far away as possible from granny and grandfather.”

“Really? Are they that bad?”

“Not bad, exactly, just . . . grandparents are supposed to spoil you, but mine have to be my parents. They’re constantly worried something is going to happen to me, which means they are a bazillion times more strict than any normal parents would be. We’re driving each other bonkers. I thought King’s Landing would be fun because it’s a big city and that’s where pretty much everyone in my class is going, but honestly, I don’t even want to go to uni. I know what I want to do with my life—I want to cook.”

“For a living?”

“Yes, and there’s a well-known culinary school in Dragonstone. I don’t even know if I need it. I probably taught myself enough to get by, but nobody’s going to hire an 18-year-old with no experience, so I have to do something. I’ll learn restaurant management and other stuff that I’m sure will help. I want to start a food blog too. I don’t know. The point is, I’m going home. Cue the celebration! Aren’t you happy!?!”

Jon laughed. “Of course, I am. That’s just a lot of information, but it all sounds amazing. I wish I knew what in the seven hells I’m supposed to do with _my_ life.”

“What are you talking about? You’re the smartest person I know.”

“I’m not smarter than you. I just do my homework, unlike you.”

She laughed. “You _are_ smarter than me, but yes, the homework thing is also true. What about being a doctor. Your mom’s a nurse. You could study medicine.”

“Ugh. No thanks.”

“What’s your favorite subject?”

“History, probably?”

“You really are a nerd. At least this hair levels you up a little.”

Jon ran his hands over his hair self-consciously. “Shut up.”

“Well,” Rhaenys said with a sigh. “You have time to figure it out, at least, and starting in a few months, you’ll have me too.”

“And your grandparents are OK letting you come back? Where are you going to live?”

“I’ll just get an apartment. They don’t really have a choice, since I’m 18, but they’re mostly fine with it. Granny likes the fact that I want to go into something cooking related at least.”

“And you’re not leaving a boyfriend behind or anything?” Jon said with a laugh.

“Not one worth mentioning.” With a grin, Rhaenys asked. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Do you have a girlfriend? Or a boyfriend? Gods, you haven’t lost your virginity have you?”

Jon blushed slightly but shook his head. “No. I have kissed someone—a girl.”

“How was it!?”

“OK, I guess? It was kind of a blur. She sort of threw herself at me. Not in a bad way—we were at a party and she just decided to go for it, and—“

"And you were powerless to stop her?” Rhaenys said laughing.

Jon shrugged. “Red hair has that effect on me.”

Rhaenys threw her head back. “Red hair is your type?”

“It’s pretty!”

Their food order was finally up and their numbers were called out. They went up to get it and sat back down to dig in.

In between bites, Rhaenys said, “Your love life will be another thing I can advise you about when I’m home.”

Frowning, Jon replied. “Don’t make me start thinking this is a bad idea.”

* * *

**Jon, age 20**

_You’re welcome_

Jon immediately looked up from his phone to Sansa’s now closed door and raised his eyebrows then smiled. Feeling a warmth come over his cheeks he went into his room and leaned against the door after closing it.

"Fuck."

He’d missed when she’d done it, but when he’d handed her his phone she’d apparently texted herself. Then, from what he could see of the text thread, she’d texted herself the selfie of the two of them. More to the point, she’d given him her number.

Jon could be forgiven for missing all of this since he’d been in a daze from the moment she’d spotted him by the vending machine in the lounge. She was so beautiful and nice and funny and smart. Each attribute making itself known over the course of their morning together in a way that both overwhelmed Jon and made him feel at ease. There was so little pretension about her, he kept having to remind himself who she was. Her knowledge of history didn’t seem to just match his—it _challenged_ it. An introvert in just about every definition of that word, Jon was not someone who considered himself terribly good at socializing with strangers. And yet, talking to her, getting to know her had been the easiest thing in the world. Now that he was on the other side of it, he couldn’t believe how well it had gone.

He’d made a friend. The fact that she was a _princess_ felt oddly circumstantial, almost beside the point. 

Jon shook his head and pushed himself off the door. He added her to his contacts as “Girl of my dreams” for a brief moment, before laughing and changing it to “Sansa Stark.”

Looking around his still sparse room, he realized he had plenty to do. He pulled his suitcase onto his bed to start unpacking when he felt his phone buzz again. He felt his heart start to race momentarily and felt an odd sort of disappointment when he saw that it wasn’t Sansa again, but his sister.

**_Rhae:_ ** _Didn’t get a call from you last night. Did you make it OK?_

**_Jon:_ ** _Yes, I’m here. Got in really late._

_**Rhae:** Dorm OK? Do you have a roommate?_

**_Jon_ _:_** _Yes and no, it’s a single._

**_Rhae_ _:_** _lucky!_

_**Jon:** also_

_**Jon:** This is sort of weird_

**_Jon_ _:_** _Don’t tell mum — or anyone actually_

**_Rhae_ _:_** _???_

_**Jon** **:** You know the princess who goes to school here? I met her._

**_Rhae:_** _AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH_

**_Rhae:_** _FACETIME ME RIGHT NOW_

**_Jon:_** _No. She actually lives on my hall and I don’t know how thick these walls are._

**_Rhae:_** _FINE. OMG, wait, you’re going to be like friends with her???_

**_Jon_** _**:** I think we are, actually. She’s a history major too. We’ll have at least one weekly lecture together._

**_Rhae:_** _I AM DYING. LYANNA IS GOING TO DIE. PLEASE LET ME TELL HER._

**_Jon_** _**:** NO! I will eventually. Don’t tell her OR ANYONE. And PLEASE don’t let me regret telling you._

**_Rhae_** _**:** Are you sworn to secrecy or something?_

**_Jon_** _**:** No, but her life here is really normal. I don’t want to be the guy who makes things weird._

**_Rhae:_** _ok ok_

**_Rhae_ _:_** _So you’ve been there less than 24 hours and exciting things are already happening_

**_Rhae_** _**:** Told you getting out of Dragonstone was an excellent idea!_

**_Jon_ _:_** _You did. Credit where it is due._

**_Rhae_ _:_** _LOL she’s probably going to fall in love with you_

**_Jon_** _**:** Haha_

**_Jon_** _**:** /sarcasm_

**_Rhae:_** _I’m serious. In fact, I’ll bet you fifty dragons._

**_Jon_** _**:** Fine, easy money. I need to go though. I need to unpack._

**_Rhae_** _**:** ok, have fun!!! Full details on all princess-related activities REQUIRED_

Jon smiled and put his phone away so he could focus. After putting everything in his suitcase away, he made a shopping list. His room, though small, had a desk and a table along with the bed. There was a mini-fridge too. He wiped it down and plugged it in, and added a few things for the fridge to the list. Sansa had told him where there was a general store within walking distance so after doing as much as he could to get his room in order, he grabbed his back pack and headed out.

A couple of hours later, he was on his way back and saw Robb and Theon coming out of Pembroke as he was going in.

“Hey, newbie!” Theon said. “What’s happening?”

“Just getting a few things for my room.”

“You didn’t find any more of Alys’ weed, did you?”

“Uh, no.”

Theon’s shoulders sagged. “Damn!”

“Told you we should have saved some of it,” Robb said. “Now we’re going to have to wait and see if Lloras comes up with Marge. He always had a steady supply.”

“Too bad he graduated,” Theon said. “No rugby, no green.”

Turning to Jon, Robb said, “Hey, you don’t play rugby, do you? We’ve got an intramural team, and one of our players graduated.”

“I haven’t played since high school,” Jon said.

“Eh, good enough,” Robb said. “Come to the gym with us. We’re meeting some of the guys on the team who moved back in yesterday to lift.”

“I need to put all this stuff away, and I wasn’t planning on joining a gym or anything.”

“It’s just the one in the student center,” Robb said. “It’s not much, but it’s free with your student ID. We’ll wait.”

“Got any food in those bags?” Theon asked.

Robb laughed as they followed Jon back inside. “You’ll find that Theon is either high or hungry.”

Jon chuckled. “I guess that makes sense?”

“So what was your name again, newbie?” Theon asked.

“Jon Snow.”

“And you’re just here for the year?”

“Yeah.”

Robb and Theon stood in his doorway and continued to pepper him with the usual get to know you questions and answered a few of his, as Jon stuffed all the perishables he had bought in the mini-fridge and put on athletic shoes. He learned that Robb was Sansa’s cousin on her mom’s side, and Theon was from the Iron Islands but had known Robb for ages because his family used to vacation there. They weren’t much like his friends back home. Sam, his best friend, was a bit on the heavy side and not at all athletically inclined. For Jon, two jobs and school didn’t leave much time for recreation, but one of his jobs was for a local moving company and he’d taken it at least in part to get a measure of exercise out of it. Indeed, his arms had managed not to bulk up, exactly, but at least take him out of the category of scrawny in the three years he’d been doing it.) Robb and Theon had that lackadaisical air that only comes when you have money to do what you will with your spare time. Still, they seemed ready and willing to adopt Jon as a friend and were not snobbish the way he assumed people who were rich would be.

Jon also learned in talking to Robb and Theon that everyone on 1st Pembroke had a pre-existing relationship with Sansa before they started school and had lived together on the hall from their first year, which was unusual but done to ensure her protection and for her parents’ peace of mind. Robb expressed some surprise that Jon’s room assignment had happened so haphazardly but doubted anything would come of it. Sansa’s presence on campus was more or less taken for granted now. The transition had been easy and no major problems, security-related or otherwise, had arisen. When the king and queen made it known that the princess would be attending university, they published a public letter to ask that she be allowed to exist and study as a normal student and that media in particular take a step back so as not to disturb the normal function of either the university or the town. And in the two years she had attended thus far, the community surrounding the university, in essence, had done what had been asked of them. They collectively chose to treat her as they would any other student. If anything, the fact that the Residence Life Office had treated the temporary vacancy on the hall just as they would have any vacancy on any other dormitory was a sign of that. As they talked, it occurred to Jon that Robb was sharing all of this to underscore the “rules” he had shared the day previous. Having gotten to know her, at least a little bit, Jon felt that same urge to not _protect_ her exactly, but to let her live her life.

After a long work out, more introductions for Jon, and a stop by the cafeteria for lunch, the three boys headed back to Pembroke.

Even though it was technically still summer, the wind had picked up and his shirt clung to him, damp with sweat from the overly warm weight room. Jon shivered, which made Robb laugh.

“Are you seriously cold right now, Snow?”

“The wind’s got a bite to it, don’t you think.”

Robb and Theon laughed in response.

“Your name is _Snow_ , mate,” Theon said. “You better get your balls ready for a real Northern winter. Today is so fucking hot, it’s positively tropical.”

“I’m from Dragonstone, which was literally forged by dragon fire. I could run a marathon without breaking a sweat in this weather. _This_ is not heat.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Robb said. “I’d rather freeze my balls off than melt them off.”

“And we know you love nothing like you love your balls,” said a girl who seemed to have popped out of nowhere.

As the three young men had neared Pembroke, a golf cart had pulled up and parked in front of the building. The girl had just emerged from it, pretty and impeccably dressed in a floral sundress and Audrey Hepburn glasses, her caramel-colored hair in perfect waves over her shoulders.

“Mother save us, she’s back,” Robb said, in a flat monotone that made Jon snicker.

“Who?” he asked.

“Just wait for it, newbie,” Theon said.

Putting her hands on her hips, she said, “I’m looking for a few strong men to take my bags in, but I suppose you boys will do.”

“We’re not your fucking porters, Margaery,” Theon said.

“Oh, really? Then I guess I’ll keep the present my brother sent you.”

Theon’s eyes practically bulged out of his head. “Why didn’t you say so, my sweet lady. My braun is your braun.”

“You wish,” she said with smirk. Taking her glasses off, she looked Jon up and down. “You must be the fresh meat! Sansa told me about you. I’m Lady Margaery Tyrell.” She extended her hand to him, palm down as if asking him to kiss it. Jon shook it awkwardly.

“Jon Snow, nice to meet you.”

“Listen, Jon Snow. The presence of actual royalty notwithstanding, I’m the queen of 1st Pembroke. I’m sure Robbert, here, told you his rules, but the only ones you need to heed are mine. First and foremost: Don’t listen to anything this daft prick says. Two: No loud music after midnight on school nights, a girl needs her beauty sleep. Three: Absolutely no sex in the lounge.”

“That was literally one time, Margaery,” Robb said.

“And I had to have the cushions reupholstered!”

Jon kept looking back and forth between the two of them and felt Theon put his arm around him and pull him away, toward the mountain of luggage Margaery had on the back of the golf cart. “If you’re wondering if you’re stuck in the middle of a lover’s spat, you are.”

Jon glanced back and, indeed, the two were still bantering back and forth. “Really? They’re a couple?”

“More like fuck buddies. On-again-off-again. Nobody knows the status at any given moment. The lounge sex was probably a bad call on Robb’s part, though. Margaery had bought all the lounge furniture when we moved in. Her dad owns some furniture conglomerate. She’s not quite a billionaire but pretty close.”

“You guys are a trip,” Jon said, shaking his head. “I feel like I stepped into a sitcom.”

“Wait until you meet Harry.”

“Why, what’s his deal?”

“He’s Sansa’s ex. Why do you think I get high, mate. Keep the hormones at bay. These chicks are too much.”

Jon didn’t say anything to that, unsure what to think about the fact he was living with a princess he was half in love with already and her ex-boyfriend, but if he had, Theon probably wouldn’t have noticed, having taken two of the suitcases off the pile and headed inside.

He didn’t know what Margaery’s brother had to offer as a reward for moving her in—though given Theon’s reaction, he could probably hazard a guess—but he saw no sense in not helping. The dynamics of the group were obviously complicated, but for better or worse, they would be his community for the next nine months, and he could already see that at the very least it would not be boring.

As he picked up a suitcase, Robb came up behind him. “She’s not always like this,” Robb said. “Usually, it’s worse.”

Jon laughed. “It takes all kinds, I guess.”

Robb laughed too. “Indeed. I’m the idiot who falls for it too.”

“Spit spot, boys,” Margaery called out from the door, which she was holding open.

“Where in the seven hells did you score this golf cart, Marge?” Robb asked.

“As if I would share my secrets with you.”

After Jon and Robb got through the outside door, she ran around them to hold open the door on the other side of the lobby into the hallway. Once everything was in her room, she gave Theon a small manila envelope.

“If I get even one whiff of that on our side of the hallway, I’m calling a cleaning service.”

“My room could probably use that, actually,” Theon said.

Margaery rolled her eyes. “Run along now. I have to unpack.”

Back in the hallway, Robb said to Jon, “6:30 for pints, Snow, don’t forget.”

“Are the girls invited?” Margaery asked, standing at her doorway.

“If they must be, I suppose,” Robb replied.

“They must,” Margaery said. She turned and followed Jon to his door, surprising him when he turned to see her there.

“Thank you for helping, Jon Snow.”

“You can just call me Jon,” he said, chuckling nervously.

“Jon Snow rolls off the tongue so nicely, though,” she said.

It felt like she was flirting, but Jon got the distinct impression that it wasn’t him exactly she was flirting with, but rather that it was just the way she was with people.

“I’ll see you at 6:30, then?” he said, trying to go into his room by himself without seeming like he was shoving her off.

“You’re a doll,” she replied, with a wink. “I can see why she likes you.”

“Pardon me?”

With a laugh, she said, “See you at 6:30,” and then disappeared back into her room.

* * *

After properly unpacking the stuff he’d bought that morning, then a shower, then a nap to try to shake off the lingering jet lag, it was 6:15. Jon hadn’t quite finished getting dressed when he heard a quiet knock on the door. He was wearing only his jeans and not thinking about the state of undress he was in or who would be knocking on the door (or indeed that Robb and Theon had warned him they never knocked), he said, “Come in.”

It was Sansa.

“Hi, oh!”

They were momentarily frozen in place. She staring at his bare chest and he looking at her dressed up with her hair down for the first time. She shook herself out of the trance first. “I’m so sorry!” she said, quickly turning around. “I’ll come back.”

“No, no, no,” he said, practically diving into the black T-shirt shirt he’d set out on his bed. “I wasn’t even thinking when I said, ‘come in.’ I’ve never lived in adormitory before so . . . I guess I need to learn the etiquette.”

Sansa laughed, which made him smile even though he couldn’t see her face.

“You can turn around now.”

She did, and her cheeks were still slightly red, but it was rather becoming. She was wearing a casual emerald green dress and strappy sandals, a small purse over her shoulder. Her hair, gloriously red, hung down several inches past her shoulders. She’d had it up each time he’d seen her, both last night and that morning. He wouldn’t have guessed it was this long.

“I hope you don’t mind that I invited myself to your outing with the boys,” she said quietly.

“Not at all,” he replied. “Honestly, I’m the interloper.”

“Not at all,” she replied. Looking around, she added, “I like what you’ve done with the place.”

The walls were still bare, but it looked a lot more lived in than it had the night before. He’d lined up the books he’d brought with him on the shelf on top of the desk, and Sansa leaned over to read the titles, whilst Jon did his damnedest not to look her up and down or explode with desire.

“Are you taking the history of women seminar?” she asked with surprised delight.

“I am.”

“Me too!”

“Brilliant.”

“You’ll likely be the only boy in the class.”

“I’ll have to do extra mansplaining then,” he joked.

She giggled and went back to looking at the books. Jon made a mental note to tell Rhaenys that for whatever reason, he wasn’t the total hopeless sad sack he usually was around girls with the princess, and had managed to make her laugh several times now. And also that Sansa’s laugh was quite possibly the prettiest, sexiest thing ever.

On second thought, it’s not like his sister needed any more fuel to give him shit.

When Sansa got to the end of the row of books, she laughed out loud again and pulled Jon’s well-worn copy of “The First Queen” off the shelf. When he saw what was in her hand, he blushed. He’d first read the infamous historical romance novel about Queen Sansa, first of her name, shortly after his mother had mentioned it to him at age thirteen and may or may not have masturbated for the first time and many times thereafter reading the sensual descriptions of the famous queen. He became equal parts fascinated and obsessed with her as a young teenager, eventually outgrowing the boyish crush on the long-dead Northern monarch but not his interest in her reign or place in history.

“I used to be obsessed with this book,” Sansa said.

“Really?”

“Yes! My sister gave it to me as a gag when I turned sixteen, and I read it at least ten times.”

“Wasn’t your family against it or something?”

“Yes, because of the incest bits, but honestly, that was my favorite part—not the fact they were related, obviously—just the romance.”

“It is oddly compelling, given our view of that now.”

“It’s funny, though, because it wasn’t even true. My dad told me later that the half-brother was actually her cousin. It never became widely known, but she legitimized him and married him. At the time, cousin marriage was allowed, but even so most historians after her death just wrote about him as if he were someone else entirely and eventually, the public accepted that as fact. Or maybe that’s just what we tell ourselves so we don’t have to think about the fact our ancestors were incestuous.”

“Like I said, history is like choose your own adventure.”

She smiled and looked back down at the book. On the cover was a portrait not unlike the one that hung in the Pembroke lobby. “Anyway, she’s so well loved that the royal family never wanted to change how people perceived her, so they made a stand against the book even thought it was meant to be read as fiction.”

“And people loved her even more,” Jon said.

“Yeah,” Sansa said contemplatively. She sighed and put the book back, saying quietly, almost to herself. “Big shoes.” Looking back at him, she said, her smile returning, “I love the fact that you have it.”

“I would be embarrassed under different circumstances, but since you know how good it is.”

Pushing away from the desk, she said, “Well, you should never be embarrassed by the things you love, especially if they are popular with women. We have the best taste.”

“I won’t argue with that.”

Sansa held out her hand to him and said, “Come on, you can’t spend your first weekend in the North without getting good and drunk.”

Jon felt his heart start to race and took her hand. They stepped out of his room and walked to the lobby where everyone had congregated. Along with Robb, Theon and Margaery, another girl had joined them and introduced herself to him as Jeyne. Jon let go of Sansa’s hand in the process, but as the group set out, Sansa remained close to him and told him about where they were going—a hole in the wall called just that, “The Wall”—and about everyone they were with, how she knew them all and what they meant to her.

Robb, whom she considered a surrogate big brother, had wanted to go to Castle Black, and still planned to after he completed his degree, but when Sansa had told him of her intent to go to Winterfell, he immediately said he would too, if it would make it easier to convince his Aunt Cat to let her go.

Theon was an old friend who basically did everything Robb did, but despite his “hobbies” was a loyal friend and had gotten himself in several scrapes in her honor.

Margaery was the cleverest, most resourceful person Sansa knew and would do anything for those she loved.

Jeyne Poole was her oldest and closest friend.

Jon wondered what Sansa would have said of the absent Harry.

At one point during the walk, Margaery pulled Sansa away and into a conversation with her and Robb. Jeyne took the opportunity to chat him up.

“I have to admit, after Sansa mentioned that you’d moved in last night, I had my dad check on you,” she said.

Jon’s brow furrowed in question.

She smiled at his nervous reaction. “He’s the head of the king’s security detail.”

“Oh . . . I assume he didn’t find anything bad? To say my life has been uneventful would be to put it generously.”

Jeyne laughed. “No, you checked out, and anyway, Sansa would have probably killed me if I’d gotten RLO to force you to move. She hates it when people are inconvenienced in her name.”

“The girl in the office made a reference I didn’t quite understand at the time, but which is obvious in retrospect. I was so tired though. I didn’t even recognize her.”

“She would never say as much, but I’m sure she loved that.”

Jon smiled, embarrassed.

“I’m buying the first round, darlings,” Margaery said loudly to the group. “You’re on your own after that.”

“You’ll have to get used to Marge,” Jeyne said. “She flaunts it a little more than the rest of them, but for an almost billionaire, she’s actually surprisingly kind at the end of the day.”

“Flaunts what? Her money?”

Jeyne nodded.

“Oh.” Jon thought for a moment. “The rest of _them_?”

Jeyne laughed. “Do you think members of the secret service are made of money? I grew up on the grounds of the palace at White Harbor, but firmly in the servant class. Among this lot, I’m the _poor_ friend.”

Jon laughed too. “Well, rest assured I’m one of _you_.”

Jeyne tucked her hand into Jon’s arm. “Oh, good! Then we’ll get along famously.”

He felt, in a way, that everyone of the hall mates he had met that day had “interviewed” him, making sure not just that he’d be normal and nice around Sansa, but that he’d fit in and not upset the perfect bubble of friendship they held together for her. A bubble that was all the more apparent when they arrived at The Wall. They took a large table in the back and moved almost in sync to surround Sansa as they made their way in. Again, Jon thought how seriously everyone took ensuring that she was comfortable. They teased her and treated her as an equal the way any friend group would when they were all together, but on the outside, it was easy to see that they were her court.

And for some reason he'd never really understand, in the matter of a single day, they had decided to adopt Jon as one of them.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the future, an engagement will be announced. 
> 
> In the present, classes begin and Jon is crushing hard. Also, Harry enters the scene as does Gilly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quarantine hasn't been good for my writing time, so getting this out felt like it took forever with five minutes here, five minutes there. The story continues to jump around in time, this chapter featuring a flash forward with what I hope are some fun clues about what it will be like for Jon when he and Sansa become a bone fide couple and the "glow up" he must undergo to be the boyfriend of a princess. The "present" continues his year at Winterfell with the start of classes, meeting Harry and Gilly, who I always enjoy writing as a no-nonsense friend to Jon. (See also my story Easy Target.)
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

**Sansa, age 25**

“OK, so the photo call will be just a few minutes,” Gilly said, reading from her binder, as Sansa stood in front of the mirror in her bedroom checking her dress for the millionth time. “North News Now is on the pool footage, so their reporter, Yoren Wood, will be the one asking the questions. I told him two, but how many is really about how many you want to answer. It’ll likely be how Jon proposed, about the ring, things like that. The longer interview is set for this afternoon and they all know that so . . . I’ll do a strip tease after. Is that fine by you?”

Sansa had zoned out, looking past the mirror out the window of her room.

“Sansa?”

Gilly’s voice shook her out of her reverie. “What? Yes . . . no . . . wait, what?”

Gilly laughed. “Never mind. Are you feeling nervous?”

Sansa took a deep breath and turned around. “A little. I don’t know why! I’ve done this a million times.”

“You’ve done a photo call with your new fiancé a million times?”

Sansa smiled giddily. “My fiancé!”

Gilly shook her head. “You two are so loved up, you’re a veritable Hallmark film.”

“I know. I can’t help it.” Sansa looked down at her left hand. The delicate ring sparkled like it knew cameras were waiting for it. The three-carat emerald in a simple platinum setting, was smaller and of less monetary value than just about every ring in the Stark family jewels that Sansa knew her parents had intended to have Jon choose from. But it was everything Sansa had wanted, and as such a complete surprise to her when he had slid it on her finger two weeks ago. Of all the battles Jon Snow could have picked against his future in-laws—and boy had there been battles, with more still to come for the nationally televised wedding—this was the one he had chosen to wage. He would not propose to the love of his life, princess or not, with a ring given to him by her parents. 

Gilly smiled, watching her. “Every girl in the North and likely everywhere else is going to ask for an emerald engagement ring for the next year at least.”

“And people say, I’m the trendsetter,” Sansa said with a laugh.

“You are! That dress is going to sell like hotcakes too.”

Sansa looked down. It was a simple deep hunter green sheath dress, with a lace overlay chosen specifically to complement the color of the gem. “Did you call the designer?”

“An hour ago, so you can’t change your mind now. She was over the moon, once I convinced her it wasn’t a prank. She said she’d call her hosting company right away about a back-up server, but if her site doesn’t crash I’ll be a monkey’s uncle.”

“Anything about expanding production and creating jobs?” Sansa asked hopefully.

“A bit too early for that. From the research we did, she’ll likely need a loan to get another factory up and running unless she decides to outsource.”

“But her local production was the reason we wanted to highlight her.”

“I don’t think that’s the route she’ll go, but if she really wants to up her volume, she’ll need help.”

“What about the small business expedited loan program?”

“We’ll point her to the right resources. That’s as far as we can go, I’m afraid. You know the rules.”

Sansa sighed. “All too well.” Rubbing her hands up and down her sides, she added, “I’m not getting any less nervous standing here, so let’s get the show on the road.”

Gilly led the way, opening the door for Sansa to step through first.

“Oh, and yes, on the strip tease, but maybe as a warm up act instead.”

Gilly laughed. “So you _were_ listening.”

“I always listen. Don’t you remember back in Winterfell when . . . . “

“When?”

But Jon had been waiting for them in the hallway and as Sansa stepped through the door whatever words she planned on saying left her mind. He looked, well, bloody _amazing_ in a grey suit and black tie complete with pocket square. He had mentioned, after putting one on to meet her parents for the first time, that he’d never worn a full three-piece suit in his life and likely would never feel entirely himself in one, but from Sansa’s perspective it was like they were made for him. He looked so handsome. _So handsome_. Sansa wondered momentarily if she could pull him back into her room and have her way with him, formal engagement announcement be damned.

As Jon stepped forward and took her hands in his, Sansa heard Gilly clearing her throat behind her. Gilly rolled her eyes and shook her head good-naturedly as she walked by them. “I’ll give you a minute,” she said, looking at her watch. “Exactly one minute! And no kissing or hugging!”

“What!?” Jon exclaimed. “You can’t be serious.”

“This entire look took days to plan and hours to execute! I’m not having one smear of lipstick, one hair out of place or one wrinkle ruin my perfectly orchestrated photo call!”

“Thank you, Gilly, we’ll be down in a moment,” Sansa said with a knowing smile.

As Gilly stepped away with another glare at Jon, Sansa turned back to him. “You look wonderful.”

“So do you.”

She brought her hands to his neck and ran her fingers through his hair—well, as much as was possible now that it was cut short. It hadn’t been long for quite a while now, but Sansa still missed it. “Thankfully, she didn’t say anything about _your_ hair being out of place.”

Jon watched her with a smile on his face as she ran her hands over his shoulders, then his arms, finally taking his hands in her again with a long sigh. “Are you nervous?” he asked.

“A bit,” she admitted. “Only because I know how tedious and absurd you must find this. I’m sorry.”

“Are you kidding? This is brilliant.”

Sansa’s eyes narrowed. “Really?”

“The best person in the world has agreed to be my wife, and I actually get to announce on live television, ‘Sorry, everyone, she’s spoken for so kindly back the fuck off.’ I’m actually wearing a T-shirt that says that under this incredibly expensive and only slightly uncomfortable suit.”

Sansa laughed and just like that her nerves were gone, undone in that way only he could ever manage. “Thank you. Though, that sounds more like something Theon would say.”

“The T-shirt was his idea, but the sentiment and the pleasure . . . “ Jon smiled and tilted his head as he leaned in to kiss her, ever so lightly on the cheek. “. . . is all mine.”

When he pulled away, Sansa saw that his cheeks had reddened a little, a sign that he was slightly nervous after all, despite his effort to make _her_ less so. It endeared and calmed her all at once. “Ready?”

Jon answered by offering his arm. She took it and they walked down the stairs together and into the gallery’s ante room, where Gilly was waiting with Sam standing, smiling, next to her. The kind of noise made only by a roomful of people trying to be quiet could be heard on the other side of the door. Both Sansa and Jon’s families had wanted to be with them for this moment, but Gilly insisted that more people around would just cause delay and irritate potentially frayed nerves further. And, indeed, seeing just her personal assistant and Jon’s best friend in that moment did make Sansa feel better and grateful her parents and their staff weren’t trying to manage her with their endless hovering as irritatingly as they had done when she and Jon had first gone public as a couple.

“I wouldn’t have guessed you could squeeze that many cameras into one room,” Sam said as they approached.

“Just how many are there?” Jon asked.

“Don’t worry,” Gilly said, “with all the flashing, you won’t even notice how many.”

“That doesn’t help me!” Jon replied.

“Remember, Marge is serving cocktails after,” Sansa said, squeezing his arm reassuringly. “Well, after the interview.”

“Think of it this way,” Sam said. “The number works in your favor. The more cameras there are, the better the odds that you’ll manage not to close your eyes in _every_ picture and someone will capture a half-decent shot.”

Sansa and Gilly laughed.

“Ugh.” Jon shook his head. “Right, OK, let’s do this.”

Sam leaned over to reach for the doorknob.

“Wait!” Gilly exclaimed. “Switch places!”

“What?” both Sansa and Jon responded at the same time.

Gilly took Jon’s arm and pulled him over to Sansa’s other side so that she was on his right.

“Tradition calls for the escort to be on the woman’s right, but tradition isn’t trying to show off a new engagement ring, is it?” As she spoke she tucked Sansa’s left arm into Jon’s such that the ring adorned hand was draped gently, _visibly_ , on his right arm. “Perfect! All right, now we’re ready.”

She motioned to Sam to open the door and the flashes began even before they had taken their first step. Sansa felt a bit like she was moving in slow motion, outside of herself.

The reporter spoke maybe a minute after they’d stepped into the room.

“Congratulations. You both look very happy.”

Sansa turned slightly to the side to look at Jon and saw that familiar way his eyes crinkled when he smiled. Turning back to the reporter, she heard herself say, “Very, very happy.”

* * *

**Jon, age 20**

The rest of his first week passed by in a flash. More and more students were about each time Jon went out of his room, as campus life began to gear up for the official start of classes. He met a few of the Pembroke residents who lived on the second floor and joined Robb and Theon at their rugby club’s first official practice.

He also met with his academic advisor, Tyrion Lannister, a little man with a big personality. Like Jon, he was originally from Westeros and specialized in the “special relationship” as he called it between the North and the country made up of the six kingdoms the North left behind after its succession. He’d written multiple books on Bran the Broken’s reign and the establishment of representative democracy in both countries, including two Jon had read. A decade ago, he’d taken a visiting professorship at Winterfell that was meant to last two years, but he told Jon he liked Northern wine and women too much to go back. He was very unlike Dr. Seaworth, Jon’s advisor back home in Dragonstone, who was more staid, more plainspoken, and less given to smirking sarcasm and ceremony. Still, on the whole Jon liked Dr. Lannister, who’d set an ambitious course of study for him. Along with third-year colloquium, the weekly lecture that all third-year history students would attend, and the history of women seminar he’d be in with Sansa, Jon had enrolled in a class on Freefolk history, one on medieval weaponry and warcraft, and an independent study on politics in the era of Queen Sansa, first of her name.

As to the future Queen Sansa, second of her name, Jon’s crush hadn’t abated at all, even if he still refused to acknowledge it to himself. The Thursday before classes started, First Pembroke observed its first movie night of the term, and he found himself sharing the small loveseat in the lounge with her. An innocuous question on her part on what kind of movies he liked as everyone else was getting settled around them led to a conversation about historical documentaries that went long into the first movie—occasionally interrupted by a “shhhhhh!” and one “you two are such nerds” from Jeyne. They finally got quiet when Margaery playfully suggested they “get a room,” to which Sansa had responded with a blushing glare.

The infamous Harry didn’t join them that evening, and Jon might have forgotten about him completely had he not finally run into him the first Monday of classes. Jon had woken up early to give himself time to get ready, eat breakfast and find the right lecture hall in the Arts and Sciences Building. Walking into the hall bathroom, a death grip on the towel around his waist, he noticed that both shower stalls were taken and stood next to the door to wait. At the sinks, to Jon’s right, stood a tall, blond-haired guy wearing a silk robe and combing product through his hair. When he was done, he pulled back and looked at himself with a self-satisfied smirk that made Jon look away for fear he’d laugh out loud.

Just then, the water shut off in one of the showers and within a minute, a wet-haired Sansa stepped out in a pink terry-cloth robe. If his face hadn’t already felt a bit flushed from the steam of the showers, Jon might have felt more self-conscious at the way his face warmed at the sight of her. Though he knew he’d be sharing a communal bathroom with several girls—and had every intention of giving them all a wide berth within it—it hadn’t occurred to him until that moment that there might be occasional run-ins like this with Sansa specifically. Clearly unbothered, she smiled on seeing him and, plastic case of toiletries in hand, stopped directly in front of him.

“Good morning, Jon!” she said brightly. “I was going to knock on your—“

“Oh, so you’re the invader from the south.”

Sansa and Jon turned to see the smirking coif standing next to them.

“Harry Hardyng,” he said. “You’re Jon Snow, right?”

“Right. Nice to meet you, Harry.”

Sansa went on without acknowledging Harry. “So anyway, since it’s—“

“Interesting how you wormed yourself onto our floor,” Harry said, interrupting again.

Jon shrugged. “I was just assigned a room.” Turning back to Sansa, he said, “You were saying?”

“Right, so since it’s—“

“Oh, I’m sure you were, but—“

But by the third interruption Jon had had it. “Shut the fuck up! Can’t you see she’s trying to speak?!” 

Harry seemed more surprised than anything else, as if he hadn’t expected Jon to interrupt _him_. “Excuse me?”

“Sansa is trying to say something, and I’d like to hear what it is.”

“Oh, you’re on a first-name basis already. How nice.” Harry turned to look at Sansa who rolled her eyes when Harry gestured for her to keep going.

“You might have trouble finding the lecture hall this morning, so I thought I’d offer to walk you since we’re both headed there anyway.”

“That would be great, actually.”

“Good! Meet in the lobby at 8:15?”

“Sounds good.”

Sansa smiled one more time before turning back to Harry, and she sighed as her expression shifted into a look of boredom. “Hi, Harry. How are you? Good summer? How’s the family? Fine? Good. Thanks for the chat, goodbye.” After rattling all that off, she pushed past Harry to the door. Jon chuckled and headed for the free shower but stopped when he felt Harry’s hand on his shoulder.

“Please get your hand off me,” he said, like a reflex.

“You think you’re the first guy who’s put himself in her orbit with the hope of getting in her pants?”

Jon’s brow furrowed in anger. “What the fuck is your problem?”

“Look, I don’t know who you are, which means you’re a nobody. She’s a princess and the Northern heir. You have absolutely no shot, so you can stop trying to play the nice guy.”

“Believe it or not, Harry, nice is not an act for most people.” Jeyne stepped out of the other shower and holding her towel around herself, walked past them casually. “Hi, Jon. Don’t mind the _scum_ , it’s an old bathroom.”

“Oh, look if it isn’t the help,” Harry said.

“Drop dead, you ass,” Jeyne replied, halfway out of the bathroom and into the corridor.

The door closed again and Harry laughed.

“Remember what I said, Jonny boy. No shot.”

“Thanks for the advice,” Jon deadpanned as he finally closed himself into the stall. Of course, when he finally turned the water on it was ice cold, which oddly enough, brought to mind the image of Sansa emerging from it a minute ago and suddenly the cold temperature seemed right and necessary. “Fuck,” he sighed. Harry was an asshole Jon was past thinking about, but even if he’d gotten Jon’s intentions wrong, Harry had zeroed in on Jon’s now undeniable interest in her in a way that Jon found disconcerting. Sansa was so lovely and so kind that Jon thought it was likely true that most people lucky enough to meet her and spend time with her fell for her in this same way. He would relish getting to be her friend and would never presume he’d ever be more than that, but standing in the cold shower on his first day of the term, he realized it was also going to be torturous.

Later, when it was time to head to class, Jon walked into the lobby to find her looking at the painting of the queen. He cleared his throat and was met with a smile, one he couldn’t help but return.

“Ready?” she asked.

“Let’s do this.”

It was another bright day and unlike the solitary walk to Old Nan’s the two had taken the morning after Jon’s arrival, on this day, there were people everywhere. They were a bit early, so Sansa suggested a short detour to the campus snack bar to pick up a coffee.

“So, in the bathroom earlier,” Jon started as they walked, feeling like he needed to say something about what had transpired. “I’m sorry about, uh . . .”

“About what?”

“Well, he, um, Harry kept talking over you—maybe I shouldn’t have said anything, but it was so rude. I apologize if that was weird.”

Sansa laughed quietly. “No, it wasn’t. At least not on your account. Harry loves nothing more than the sound of his own voice. I would tell him to shut it, but it’s rather pointless. You’ll learn to just tune him out like the rest of us.”

“I hope that happens soon.”

Sansa laughed again, then got quiet for a moment. “He and I used to date.”

“Hmm.” Jon thought it was a statement that needed acknowledging, but in the moment he couldn’t think of what to say that wouldn’t make him sound or feel like a terribly awkward and already lovesick oaf. So he settled for “Hmm.” _Eloquent_ , he thought wryly to himself.

“I only mention it because he’s still weird about it sometimes and may say something at some point suggesting things aren’t over between us, when they well and truly are.”

Jon continued listening, unsure why Sansa was saying any of this or where she was going with it.

“Anyway, if he says anything to you about me, please ignore it. Actually, that’s probably the best approach regarding any topic he may broach with you.”

“OK.”

Jon felt her eyes on him and glanced over only to see her look away, biting her lip.

“Is that all?” he asked.

“Yes, I . . . “ she stopped and put her hand on his arm. “You seem concerned.”

“Oh, um . . . I’m told that’s how my face usually looks.”

“I suppose,” she said with a smile. “Is _that_ all?”

Jon rubbed the back of his head, not sure what to do about the sudden nervous energy between them. “I guess I was a little surprised. Robb and Theon had mentioned Harry and I, um, I think I was expecting something different?”

Sansa tilted her head slightly. “Different?”

“He’s just not who I pictured you with. I mean not _you_ you. Or not just you. I mean everyone else. All of you. First Pembroke. You’re all such good friends and so nice. Maybe I caught him on a bad morning—“

“You didn’t. He’s like that one hundred percent of the time.”

“I suppose, then, that makes me wonder how he fits in.” He didn’t say as much, but what Jon truly meant was, _If he’s going to be around, perhaps that makes me wonder how I will fit in._

Sansa’s face softened. “He doesn’t really. I did know him before school, but not like everyone else. How he ended up with us is rather a long story not worth getting into.”

They started walking again and after several minutes of companionable silence, Sansa said, quietly, as if to herself, “You fit in really well.”

Jon looked down, feeling happy and embarrassed all at once.

When they got to the snack bar, they both ordered coffees to go and before Jon noticed or could do anything about it, Sansa had paid for them both.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he said as they walked back outside toward A&S.

“Think of it as a celebratory gift. Your first colloquium lecture—cheers!” She held up her cup, and a laughing Jon tapped it with his.

“And speaking of first-day-of-school celebrations,” Jon said, reaching for his pocket, where he had felt his phone vibrating. “Hold on. . . . Hey, mum.”

“Happy first day of school, darling!”

“You didn’t have to call so early—didn’t you have a night shift last night?”

“Well, yes, but I wanted to wish you luck on your first day. Are you finding your way around all right?”

“Yeah, I have some help,” Jon said, looking over at Sansa, who was walking next to him while checking her own phone, clearly (thankfully) not able to hear Lyanna.

“Is one of your hall mates in class with you—that’s great! Well, I won’t keep you, but I want to hear all about it tonight, OK?”

“Sure, mum.”

“Oh, before I forget, Rhaenys stopped by to drop off some food. I think she thinks I’m going to starve without you here to cook for me, though I’m not complaining. I’d forgotten how good a cook she is. Anyway, she asked if you’d said anything about anything—direct quote, that. ‘Anything about anything.’ What was she talking about?”

Jon sighed, squeezing his eyes in irritation at his sister. “Nothing—at least, nothing I have time to explain right now. I’m about to walk into my class, but when she stops by again tell her she can send some of that food she’s making you my way.”

Lyanna laughed on the other end of the phone, making Jon smile. “I have to go, mum.”

“All right, dear, let’s talk again soon, OK?”

“OK.”

Jon slid the phone back into his pocket as he and Sansa walked through the double doors on the side of the building closest to them. “Your mum, I take it?”

Jon nodded.

“That’s sweet of her to make it a point to call this morning.”

“Yeah,” Jon said, chuckling at himself for the word having come out more sarcastic than he meant it. “Her attention does veer into hovering every so often, but it is nice for the most part. Given that I’m her only child, there is nowhere else for the attention to go.”

“I thought you said you had an older sister,” Sansa said.

“Half-sister, technically. On my dad’s side, but we’re close. So are she and my mum, oddly enough, considering mum and I are only in Rhae’s life because our father was a cheating asshole who stepped out on her mother.” 

Sansa stopped short and Jon did too, realizing just how much had tumbled out of his mouth.

“Wow, that was a lot to burden you with in one go,” he said. “I’m not sure why I even said it. I don’t usually air out my family’s dirty laundry and have a general policy to not talk about myself if it can be helped.”

“I’ve noticed,” Sansa said with a smile.

“Since you bought my coffee just now and told me your namesake married her cousin, maybe my subconscious thought I owed you one.”

“My power play worked, excellent!”

Jon laughed and looked down at his feet as he did so, so he missed the way Sansa grinned at him.

“Come on,” she said, grabbing him by the arm. “If we dally any more, we’ll get stuck sitting in the front row.”

As Sansa had assumed, Jon would never have found the history lecture hall on his own, tucked away as it was in the building’s dome, a “hidden” fourth floor of what was otherwise a three-story, massive castle-like structure of grey stone. The entrance was at the base of the lecture hall, so when they walked in, Sansa took an immediate left to go up into the risers. Jon intended to follow her when he heard his name.

“Mr. Snow!”

He turned to see Dr. Lannister standing at the lectern, on a small ladder so he could see over it. Next to him were two women, an impossibly tall one with short hair almost as fair as her skin, and another, shorter and younger, with light brown hair and a shy smile.

“Good morning, Dr. Lannister,” Jon said.

“A good morning, indeed, I love the smell of nervous students in the morning,” he said. “This is Dr. Brienne Tarth, my colleague in the history department and a giant in the field of military history—quite literally.”

“That joke never gets old, Tyrion,” she said with a tone that suggested she felt quite the opposite. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Snow, I look forward to having you in class this year. This is Gilly Craster, she’s the other Mormont Scholar. I don’t think you’ve had a chance to meet since you did your interview remotely.”

“Hi, I’m Jon,” he said, shaking her hand.

“Why don’t you two have a seat in the front row,” Tyrion said, “so we can embarrass you properly in our introduction once every one is here.”

As Jon and Gilly moved toward the first row, he looked up to see Sansa, about halfway up the 40 or so rows of seats pointing to the seat next to her. With a shrug, he pointed to where Gilly was settling in. Sansa responded with an exaggerated frown and Jon, smiling back, hoped that the distance between them now was enough to mask the redness he felt in his cheeks. He was of strong will and was ready to fight off his growing crush with all his might, but it would seem that the subject of it was not going to be of help in that increasingly futile effort.

Slowly the room filled up as more and more students filed in. Sitting down next to Gilly, he began to take out a notebook and pen and felt Gilly lean over toward him.

“Did you see who is back there?!” she said in an excited whisper.

“Who?”

“The princess!”

“Oh, right. Yeah.”

“I knew she was at Winterfell but I never thought I’d actually see her. Wild, right?”

Jon chuckled, thinking of his own first sight of Sansa. “Very.”

“So where are you from?”

“Dragonstone.”

“So you’re a ways from home. I thought about studying abroad, but a year at Winterfell for free was too good to pass up. Is Dragonstone also where you go to school?”

“Yeah . . . you?”

“I’m from White Tree, which is a dumpy little town you’ve probably never heard of, but I go to the University of the North at Hardhome. How are you liking the North so far?”

“A lot.”

“Wow, you’re a real talker, aren’t you?”

Jon looked at her, confused for a moment before realizing what she had said, which got a laugh out of her. “Let me guess,” he replied, “you’re not at all?”

She laughed again and turned toward the front of the room, where Tyrion was banging a gavel against the lectern.

“Welcome, welcome, one and all,” he began. “This is your third-year history colloquium. I’m Tyrion Lannister and this is Brienne Tarth, for those unlucky few who have managed to make it this far without taking one of our courses. We shall be your guides through this year’s journey through history or as I like to call it, ‘What the hell were those fuckers thinking?’” He stopped as laughter flurried around the room, then turned to Dr. Tarth. “Brienne, any words of wisdom before we begin?”

With a shake of her head and a roll of her eyes, she turned to the audience of students. She cleared her throat and said, “History isn’t just what happened, but how and, most importantly, why. It isn’t just a study of who came before us, but of ourselves as well. What _were_ those fuckers thinking? Inelegantly phrased, perhaps, but a good question. How have we, in turn, been shaped by history? As individuals and as a society. Looking back is easy, but looking inward as we do so is the real challenge. And if it’s not challenging, then we’re not doing it right. So let’s do it right. This is going to be a great term. We can’t wait to learn from all of you.”

“Well put, Dr. Tarth,” Tyrion said. “Now, before we begin, as all of you know, the third year in the Winterfell history curriculum includes our time-honored tradition of inviting two peer scholars to join us for the year, one from a Northern university and another from our neighbor to the south. This year we have Jon Snow and Gilly Craster.” Tyrion paused and motioned for them to stand, which they did, with Gilly smiling and waving besides. “Mormont Scholars have gone on to become prize-winning historians, best-selling authors, powerful leaders in government and business, and of course, lowly professors at Winterfell University, so remember their names.”

As Tyrion went on, Gilly leaned over to Jon again. “Which one of those do you think you will be?”

Jon sighed. “I don’t know.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the flashback, Sansa meets her first boyfriend.
> 
> In the present, Sansa has a lot of feelings about Jon Snow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From the start, it was important to me that Sansa had multiple relationships and sex before meeting Jon, so this gives a glimpse into the thing that always seemed to plague them: they get weighed down by the fact she'll become a queen. (A princess growing up as heir apparent is not a phenomenon we've seen in the British monarchy since Elizabeth II herself, and as The Crown suggested, Philip didn't like the fact he had to kneel to her.) Again, this isn't meant to be hyper-realistic, by I do think that power dynamic is interesting and we know from the show and book canon, and Jon is willing to defer to Sansa, which in this universe will set him apart. Anyway, hope this brings a bit of fun into your life.
> 
> Also, because it feels important to underscore at every turn: Black lives matter.

**Sansa, age 16**

Sansa looked over at the boy on the couch next to her, who seemed only vaguely interested in the movie they were watching. She looked around and the only other people in the room were on the love seat across the room kissing like they had forgotten anyone else was there. Sansa might have thought it romantic—for them, at least—if it didn’t feel so depressing for her.

She had pictured something different when Jeyne convinced her to come with her to a party with her schoolmates, foolishly thinking that maybe she’d live out a teen movie fantasy and meet her first love—or at least just kiss someone worth kissing. But upon arrival, it was clear that was not in the cards. Everyone looked at her like she was a museum piece, a wax figure to be gawked at like the ones at that tacky tourist place Arya had shown her a picture of on the internet. One girl, clearly drunk, screamed in her face: “The _princess_ is at this party?! Amazing!” and then proceeded to share her excitement with everyone around her without ever actually talking to Sansa like she was a real person. Ever loyal, Jeyne suggested they leave immediately, but Sansa wouldn’t hear of it. Jeyne had been the reason they had come. More to the point, Jeyne had been invited by the boy on whom she was currently crushing, and Sansa affirmed that she could handle herself for a couple of hours among strangers for the sake of her friend finally getting somewhere with the boy she liked.

Sansa eventually found the basement TV room and had started flipping through the channels when Pod came and sat down next to her. He didn’t greet her exactly, only plopped down on the sectional with a half-nod and sigh of resignation.

“Did Jeyne send you to babysit me? You don’t have to."

“No . . . I mean, yeah . . . I’m not mad about that—it’s other stuff.”

Sansa shrugged and turned her attention to an action movie full of people whose faces she vaguely recognized but couldn’t name.

That had been an hour ago. Judging by the music coming from upstairs, the party was still going full-force.

“Pod?” She said, nudging him gently. “Hey, Pod?”

Such was the bored stupor he must have been in that he shook at the sound of her voice as if waking from a nap. “What?! Oh, uh, yes?”

“I think I’m going to go home.”

“Um . . . do you want me to go find Jeyne?”

Sansa held up her small flip-phone. “No, I’ll just leave her a voicemail to let her know if she doesn’t answer. I can call for a car.”

He looked concerned. “Is that safe?”

“I don’t mean a taxi,” she said with an embarrassed shrug.

“Oh . . . right.”

“I’m just going to go outside to call.”

“I can come with you.”

Sansa looked toward the stairs and considered whether she wanted to push through the crowdand wait outside by herself. “OK.”

It took a few minutes, but they made it through the red-cup-littered house. Sansa wondered if all “normal” parents just let their kids party like this all the time or if it was more a function of not living surrounded by priceless historical artifacts. At one point, Pod took her hand so they wouldn’t lose each other in the crowd, an act she found both puzzling and sweet. When they made it outside, he let go, clearly embarrassed.

“Sorry."

“It’s OK.”

In front of them a group of boys were sitting on the grass in front of the house passing a bottle around and drinking straight from it.

“Hey, Podrick! You trying to get knighted or something?”

“Sod off,” he mumbled back. Turning back to Sansa, he said, “I know where there’s a tea shop nearby—maybe a ten minute walk. Might be better to wait for your ride there. I’ll walk with you.”

The neighborhood they were in was among the nicest in White Harbor. The homes were moderately sized only because they were rather old. Jeyne didn’t go to boarding school like Sansa’s other close girlfriend Margaery, but that didn’t mean her classmates were all rough and tumble. Still, when Pod started walking she hesitated and Pod noticed, so she immediately felt stupid for doing so.

“We don’t have to, if you don’t want to.”

“No, I do. It sounds nice actually.”

As they started walking, she said, “Sorry to pull you away.”

He shrugged. “Sitting around drinking bad whiskey isn’t really all that fun.”

“What was bothering you?” Sansa asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Earlier . . . when you came downstairs and I said you didn’t have to babysit me, you looked annoyed, but you said it wasn’t me, it was ‘other stuff.’”

Pod looked over at her and Sansa wondered if he was surprised that she had asked. Looking away again, he said, “It’s a bit embarrassing, actually.”

“You don’t have to tell me. I don’t mean to pry.”

“No, it’s really not that big a deal. It’s only that you’ll probably let the cat out of the bag.”

“I don’t understand. Who would I tell?”

Pod let out a sigh that turned into a chuckle. “ _I’m_ actually the one who invited Jeyne to the party.”

“Oh . . . _oh_!

“Yeah.”

They walked silently for several minutes, until Sansa said, “I could do it. I could talk to Jeyne, if you want me to.”

“No, please don’t. She obviously likes Waymar. We’ve known each other for a long time, and I was kind of hoping, but I never really said anything. I’m more annoyed at myself about that. I never really put myself out there. Just kind of figured nobody else would be into her and then she’d . . . settle for me?” He stopped short and looked at her in disgust. “Did that sound as bad to you as it did to me?”

Sansa bit her lip. “Worse, I think.”

“Seven hells, am I really that much of an asshole?”

She couldn’t help but smile at the sincere fear in his eyes. “I don’t really know you, so I don’t feel qualified to answer.”

With a sigh he said, “I guess what they say about nice guys actually being wankers is true.”

“They also say recognizing your problem is half the battle.”

Pod laughed and they started walking again. “You’re really nice, your highness.”

“Sansa. You say that like you didn’t think it was true before.”

“More like I never really thought of you as a real person—well, a _regular_ person. Someone who goes to lame parties like the rest of us.”

Sansa wanted to respond, but wasn’t sure what to say. She didn’t really want to keep talking about herself. Who she was or wasn’t. “You’re nice too, Pod.”

Pod rolled his eyes like he didn’t believe her.

“You could have responded to Jeyne liking someone else differently, and when she asked you to keep me company as a favor, you agreed. Honestly, you’re doing a swell job of it.”

He laughed again. “Thanks, I think.”

When they got to the tea shop and walked in to order, the girl behind the counter, no older than they were, looked at Sansa with narrowed eyes, like she was trying to place where she knew her. Sansa felt her cheeks warm. She didn’t want to acknowledge it but couldn’t figure out how to move past the moment. Suddenly, she felt Pod’s arm around her.

“The princess—if you’re trying to figure out who she looks like, that’s it, OK? It’s the red hair. She gets it all the time, now can we order please?!”

The girl rolled her eyes in barely concealed contempt and took their order. Eventually, once their drinks were ready, they took their seats outside in the patio. It was a warm night, but a quiet one. Nobody else was sitting around them.

“Did you want to call someone?” Pod asked.

“No, I’m OK,” Sansa said. “Unless—“

“Oh, I’m not saying you have to, not on my account.”

Sansa smiled. “Maybe I’ll just wait Jeyne out.” She wondered if Pod would react to the reminder that the girl he liked was currently busy with someone else, but he didn’t. “We can go back if you want.”

“Nah, I’m good.”

He smiled at Sansa in a way that genuinely made her wonder why Jeyne hadn’t looked at Pod _like that_ before.

“Someday, I’ll be able to tell my kids I went on a coffee date with the queen.”

“Oh, so this is a date now?”

His eyes went wide, worried again that he’d said the wrong thing. “Oh, no. I mean, no, I was just, um—“

She laughed. “I’m not saying I mind if it is.”

* * *

**Sansa, age 21**

A little over a month into the term, Sansa found herself up early on a Saturday morning in an effort to get a little ahead on her school work. Early October was when her professors always stepped up their work load, and this year was no different. She was past the point at which she was taking mostly survey courses and core-requirements and now finally was getting into the meat of her scholarly interests. She was also learning, however, that this just meant she had more to do.

Still, it had been as fun a first month and a half of the school year as she could remember, and she didn’t mind attributing the phenomenon to the new object of her now almost constant—certainly constantly distracting—daydreams: Jon Snow. The number of times she had thought of him while lying awake in her bed in the middle of the night could no longer be counted on the hand she used to “take care of business,” as Jeyne would put it. Margaery’s verbiage for masturbation was more flowery than that, and Arya’s more blunt. Sansa was not really one to talk about sex. At least, not enough for anyone to attribute any kind of adjective to _how_ she talked about it. But lately her mind seemed intent on the subject, and she knew very well why that was.

On top of being quite nice to look at, Jon was incredibly smart. Given how competitive the Mormont Scholarship was, Sansa had assumed this about him from the start. But it was one thing to know a truth on paper and another to see it in action. His comments in class were infrequent (and usually at the prodding of their professors), but he asked questions often and they were incisive, on point, and just _interesting_. He was the rare student who understood that he didn’t know everything and was willing to learn—unlike many more of the people in Sansa’s classes who seemed to have come to Winterfell not to gain knowledge, but to show it off.

What Sansa loved best about Jon, though, was how quickly he had become an essential member of her friend group, bonding with Robb and Theon in a way that made it seem now as if they’d been a trio all along, in a way Sansa had imagined once might happen with Robb, Theon and Harry back when she still believed Harry was something other than what he turned out to be: a superficial, self-involved social climber. Despite the absurd show of himself he’d put on when he had introduced himself to Jon in the bathroom, Harry hadn’t made much more trouble since, mostly retreating back into the circuit of posh university clubs that he always frequented and rarely intruding into the lives of the other First Pembroke residents except for the rare snide comment in the bathroom or to occasionally pop his head into the lounge on movie night.

So it was a surprise to Sansa when the knock at her door turned out to be Harry, instead of Jon, who—having declared himself officially addicted to the croissants at Old Nan’s—always stopped to ask her if she wanted him to bring her back one when he walked there on the weekends.

“Oh,” she said, on seeing Harry. Her shoulders visibly drooping.

“Expecting someone?” he asked.

“Can I help you?”

Harry gestured toward the room behind her, silently asking if he could come in. With an eye roll, Sansa moved out of the way to let him through and closed the door behind her.

“You know, I really don’t understand the hostility. I thought you and I would break the cliche and be friends after being a couple.”

Sansa laughed. “You don’t have friends, Harry.”

“There are plenty people in my life who are of use to me.”

“Do you hear yourself?”

“Of course, I do, your highness,” he said with a laugh. “I’m playing it up for your benefit. You’ve cast me into the role of snobbish prick and I’m merely playing my role with verve.”

“A part you were born to play.”

“I forgot how sexy you are when you’re taking me to task. Why did we end things again?”

“Because you’re not a nice person.”

“Ah, yes. The requirement of your position that you always put on a show for everyone.”

Sansa rolled her eyes. “Case in point.”

“What’s funny about all this is that at the root of the thing you most hate about me is what attracted you to me in the first place.”

“And what would you say is _the thing_?” she said crossing her arms in annoyance.

“I’m confident,” he said quietly.

“Too bad that dating a princess turned it into arrogance.”

He looked down at his watch for a second and said, “Dad broke his ankle a week ago.”

“Is he all right?” Sansa cut in.

“Fine, but mum doesn’t want her gown to go to waste, so I’m going with her to the Independence Ball tonight. Just letting you know so things don’t get awkward with your parents.”

“There’s 600 people on the guest list,” she replied. “Dealing with awkward people and the occasional prick is part of the job. I think they’ll manage.”

He looked at her for a long moment, and Sansa wondered what his intent was.

“Fine. Just figured I’d mention it.”

“Thanks,” she said with a shrug, then moved back to the door to open it. “Bye.”

He smirked and shook his head. “Your highness.”

Sansa closed the door and slumped back down at her desk with a sigh when there was another knock on the door. This time, she didn’t bother getting up.

“WHAT?”

Jeyne came in laughing and took her usual spot on Sansa’s unmade bed. “I saw Harry walking out of here. No doubt he left you in a great mood, as always. What did he want?”

“He’s going to be at the ball tonight with his mum and thought I needed forewarning for some reason.”

“He probably wants to get back together.”

“Not likely.”

“Speaking of your exes, I got an email from Podrick Payne the other day.”

“Oh, really. How is he?”

“Good. He ran into Alys in King’s Landing.”

Sansa laughed. “It’s funny that I’m the one who went out with him and yet you’re the one he still reaches out to.”

“In fairness, we did go to school together most of our lives, and I have to keep in touch with him. He’ll have his own chapter in my unauthorized biography about you as befits the first notch in the queen’s bedpost.”

“Will you mention that I was his second choice?”

“Of course!”

Both of them broke out in laughter.

“So what time do you have to leave for the ball tonight?” Jeyne asked.

Sansa sighed and rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands. “Five or so. It’s not a new dress, but mother insists on building in time for on-the-spot alterations. I think she knows I’m not going to stay long.”

“You’re not staying at the castle?”

Sansa shook her head. “I know I have to be back for the balcony stuff after the parade tomorrow, but I’d rather sleep in my own bed.”

“Only you would consider this lumpy dormitory mattress your own bed over the priceless one in Winterfell Castle.”

“It’s cold in there, literally and figuratively.”

“I thought things with you and his majesty were OK.”

“They are, we just don’t have much to talk about. You could come with me.”

“And miss karaoke night at The Wall?”

“That sounds much better than my night. Why does no one tell little girls being a princess is actually fucking tedious and no fun at all.”

Jeyne laughed. “Gods, Harold must have been in rare form if you’re dropping F bombs.”

“No worse than usual.”

“Well, I have something that will surely brighten your day after lunch if you come with me.”

“I can’t! I have to make progress on this essay and with the ball tonight and the parade tomorrow I have no time.”

Jeyne sat up from where she’d been leaning against Sansa’s pillows. “When is it due? Be honest.”

“Friday,” Sansa said meekly, which Jeyne could only answer with a hearty laugh. “Are you serious? You have all week!”

“My first drafts are always shit.”

“Your first drafts are probably better than everyone else’s.”

“If you’re trying to convince me, you might need to take another tack like telling me what you’re asking me to do.”

Jeyne’s smile brightened in a way Sansa grew immediately suspicious off. “The boys have rugby match.”

“While the notion of sweaty, muddy men generally is of some appeal, I’m afraid it’s not enough today,” Sansa said turning back to her laptop.

“Have you forgotten Jon is on the team?”

Sansa had just set her hands on the keyboard to start typing but despite making a not insignificant effort to school her features into an expression of disinterest, she couldn’t hold it for long, causing Jeyne, who could practically read her entire thought process, to laugh long and loud.

Sansa sighed and dropped her head into her chest. “He’s so hot! And cute! A person should not be allowed to be both of those things!”

“He likes you too. I can tell.”

“Oh, shut it.”

“I’m serious!”

“Well, he’s had plenty of opportunities to make a move and he hasn’t.”

“So have you! Why do you always want the guy to act first! Take charge of your sex life! You’re a feminist! This backward thinking is what led to Harry.”

“My family is the literal patriarchy,” Sansa responded with a smirk. “What do you expect?”

“You want to jump him. I expect you to act on that impulse the same way you would act on an impulse related to . . . writing a history essay! Think of coming onto him like writing a bold thesis statement.”

Sansa couldn’t help but laugh. “I’ve sent signals.”

“Sure,” Jeyne said with a giggle. “Overly subtle ones that don’t really get past the general aura of you being who you are to someone who is only getting to know you. You need to think bigger.”

Sansa got quiet. “So he can tell his future wife and children stories about how the queen threw herself at him once?”

Jeyne smiled sadly. It always came back to this with her best friend. Everyone loved the idea of meeting the Crown Princess, but they only ever wanted to look at her from afar. Once the novelty wore off, few stuck around long enough to really get to know Sansa. She was beautiful and smart and lucky and privileged and, somehow, in spite of those things, often the loneliest person in the room. Jeyne wasn’t lying when she’d said she could tell Jon liked Sansa, but if pressed, she couldn’t say she knew him well enough yet to know whether he was merely overawed by the title or if he was genuinely interested in the person behind it.

“My sexual frustrations aside, I genuinely like being his friend,” Sansa added. “I’m afraid of what would happen if I do or say anything beyond that, so I think I just need to leave it alone.”

Jeyne smiled, deciding not to push things more than she had. “I think being friends still leaves room for gawking at his backside while he plays rugby.”

Sansa blushed, but still replied with, “I think I agree with that.”

* * *

Despite how seriously Robb and Theon took it, the university’s intramural rugby league was an informal collection of former players who had left their school-age teams but not their school-age competitiveness behind. Sansa, Jeyne and Margaery usually went to watch them play for the laughs. The matches had no referees so half the fun was seeing the boys adjudicate every play themselves. Sansa and Jeyne had on jeans and sweatshirts that the weather, sunny but with a Northern chill, called for. Not one to miss an occasion to stand out in a crowd, Margaery was in a sweater dress complete with parasol and opera glasses and made it a point to shout “Ball’s out!” every time the ball came out of the scrum, which was its own form of entertainment.

For Sansa, the essay-writing break proved worth it. She had seen Jon in athletic shorts plenty of times on the hall, but seeing him in action offered additional benefits. He wasn’t the tallest guy in the world. In flats, he and Sansa were eye-to-eye with each other, but he was clearly strong, his limbs lean and graceful. He’d pulled his hair back for the game, and though Sansa would never have thought she’d like a man with a bun or ponytail, it worked for him. The stern expression his features usually favored was all the more becoming in a frown of concentration and the smiles and laughter that followed a good play were practically blinding. It was fun to get to watch him without reserve. Sansa was so intent on it that she didn’t even mind when Jeyne waved her hand in front of her face at one point.

The girls took cues from the small crowd—little more than a dozen people—on when to cheer, but walking away, Sansa couldn’t remember if the game had been won or lost when it was done. It was late in the afternoon by then and the group headed back to Pembroke from the athletic fields en masse, making plans for dinner on the way.

“There’s a new Dornish place in the commons,” Robb said. “I’m keen to try it. What do you say, Snow? Didn’t you say Dornish food was your favorite?”

Jon looked skeptical. “It is, but I’m also kind of picky about it.”

“I would not have pegged you for a foodie, Jon Snow,” Margaery said, arm tucked into Robb’s despite the dirt on his sleeve. (They were in an “on” period.)

He chuckled. “I’m not really. It’s only because my sister is a chef.”

“Does she want to start her own restaurant?” Margaery asked.

“Not yet. She’s a sous chef at one of the best places in Dragonstone. It gets amazing reviews in all the big magazines. She’s there for the exposure and the experience. She has a food blog too. Dornish cuisine is her thing—that’s where her mom’s family is from—so I’m a bit spoiled.”

“Whatever, man, food is food,” Theon said. “We’re going.”

“What’s on the castle menu tonight, San?” Jeyne asked.

Jon looked over to her. “Oh, you won’t join us?”

“I wish I could, but the weekend observing Northern Independence will never be my own. My parents are in town at Winterfell Castle. There’s a ball tonight and the parade tomorrow. The food will be the usual bland Northern delights.”

“Do not mock venison stew,” Jeyne said.

“I would never!” Sansa replied.

“Which tiara are you wearing?” Margaery asked.

“No tiara—for me, at least. Mum’s wearing the Lyanna Crescent.”

“Ooh, I love that one!”

“It’s been a few years since she’s worn it.”

“It’ll be all over the fashion blogs, then,” Jeyne said.

“Better that than the usual critiques of my choice of dress, no doubt.”

Back at Pembroke, the group lingered in the lobby, making plans. Sansa, however, had to peel off, wishing she didn’t have to. Even though she intended to come back later than night, she put together a weekender bag before heading out to the royal residence at Winterfell. Jon was still in the lobby when she walked back through. He was looking at his phone with a frown.

“Have a good night,” she said, causing him to look up.

“You too. I remember seeing that Independence Day was tomorrow, and it didn’t occur to me that you participated in the festivities until you mentioned it just now. That’s how effectively I’ve forgotten you’re the crown princess.”

“Sometimes, I forget too.”

“Is it fun, at least?”

“It can be. Some days, it’s easy to take great pride in it. Other days, it feels like a job nobody else wants. Tonight will be a bit more the latter. My sister isn’t coming because my father didn’t want to disrupt her first term at Castle Black, so I’ll miss having her there with me.”

“An arty history nerd and a soldier are interesting variations on the notion of a princess.”

She huffed in mock indignation. “I’m not a nerd!”

“You are! I should know. We can smell our own.”

Sansa guffawed. After a minute, she said. “You never say what I expect you’re going to say.”

“What did you think I was going to say?”

“I don’t know, actually. That you were kidding?”

“I mean it, but maybe I should clarify that when I say arty history nerd, it’s the highest possible compliment anyone could pay anyone else.”

“I know you’re teasing me, but you have a good face for making it sound sincere.”

Jon smiled, looking a little embarrassed.

“I hope you don’t hate the restaurant too much. I want to try it and I want your discerning palate to go with me when I do.”

“OK.”

She offered a sad little wave and headed off, unable to remember if she’d ever been less interested in playing the part of a princess.

* * *

The annual Independence Ball, held in Winterfell rather than White Harbor by tradition, was an event Sansa had longed to attend when she was too young to do so. After the first few years of going, however, it had grown tedious. The guest list, politicians and luminaries from throughout the country, was large but strictly controlled. It was rare that she or Arya were allowed to have a friend their age join them, so it was a long night of schmoozing among a set of people who were older, usually self-satisfied and often deeply uninteresting. Harry fit right in. Luckily for her, Sansa did manage to avoid him.

Her mother’s hairstylist arranged the top half of her hair into a halo of braids, leaving the rest in long, soft curls down her back. Her dress was one she had worn at a state dinner a few years back, deep blue with a boatneck and cap sleeves, fitted down to just above her knees, where it flared out down to the floor. Appropriate for the occasion, but comfortable. So comfortable, in fact, that when she got the OK from her parents to excuse herself, Sansa didn’t bother changing back into the clothes she had arrived in and merely grabbed her bag and had one of the safety officers drop her back at Pembroke still in the dress.

She wouldn’t consider it kismet until years later, but when she stepped into the corridor, Jon was in the act of opening his door. He turned, hearing the clack of her heels and as she approached, she couldn’t help but smile at his reaction. In fact, she slowed her walk to let his eyes sweep down the length of her and back up.

“Wow,” he said, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed.

“This old thing,” Sansa said quietly, in an admittedly lame attempt to be self-deprecating.

“I, uh . . . I feel like I should kneel right now.”

“Please don’t.”

“You look . . . surprisingly like yourself?”

She giggled (and kind of hated herself for it). “What do you mean?”

“When we met, I didn’t recognize you because you were in your glasses and casually dressed. The Clark Kent effect. Now that I’m used to you like that, you’d think that in the costume of a princess . . . you know, S _uperman_ . . . you’re still recognizable as the same person so the analogy doesn’t really hold up.”

Sansa bit her lip, kind of wishing he would say more—or maybe that he would live out his own fantasy of sweeping the beautiful girl in a fancy dress off her feet.

“I’m sorry,” Jon said shaking his head, “that made no sense. I’m experiencing what it genuinely feels like to have your mind blown.”

“Would a beer help?” Sansa asked, wanting to keep talking to him, make the night that now looked promising again last longer. “I have some in my fridge.”

“Sure,” he replied and followed her into her room. She kicked off her heels, walked over to the mini-fridge and pulled out two bottles from a local brewery First Pembroke had been to as a group recently.

“I consider it my royal duty to support local business,” she said, handing him the bottle.

Jon held it up to clink it with hers. “You will make an excellent queen."

Sansa smiled into the lips of her bottle as she took a long pull. She motioned for him to sit on the small loveseat across from her bed. The room was bigger than the other singles on the floor, so it fit the loveseat, her bed, her desk and the reading chair she had pulled against the window. It felt lived in and entirely her own in a way nothing else in any of the castles and palaces and cottages and homes and what-have-you her family owned. It was odd how weird it _didn’t_ feel to have Jon in here.

“Why aren’t you at karaoke night?” she asked, sitting down facing him.

“I was for a while, but then Theon got on stage, and it seemed as good a time as any to call it a night.”

Sansa laughed. “Wise choice. Oh! How was the restaurant?”

“OK . . ish?”

“Oh no, that bad?”

Jon chuckled. “It wasn’t bad. Just not real Dornish food. I am aware that saying thatmakes me sound like a tool, but Rhaenys sort of ruined my standards.”

“By making them high?”

“Honestly, I just miss her cooking. And also her.”

Sansa smiled, endeared.

Just then his phone buzzed. “And speaking of Rhae,” he said. He pulled it out of his back pocket and frowned deeply as he read the text.

“Is everything OK?” Sansa asked.

“Yeah, uh,” Jon scratched his head and quickly texted something back.

“If you need privacy, you don’t have to stay,” Sansa said quietly. “I need to get out of this dress anyway.”

He looked up and smiled, a softness in his eyes that Sansa had never seen before. His phone buzzed again causing him to look back down. He started typing again, and although she didn’t want to, Sansa stood.

“It’s the anniversary of our dad and her mum’s funeral today,” he said, also standing.

“Oh, Jon. I’m so sorry.”

“The week around their death is always hard for her.”

“This is the mom that he cheated on?”

He nodded and took a deep breath. “When Rhaenys was two, Elia, her mum, she . . . lost a baby boy at birth. She wasn’t able to have children after that. I don’t really know the details, obviously, but dad started drinking. On a business trip here, he met my mum at a bar. She didn’t know he was married and so they started kind of seeing each other. He kept coming back to see her. He led her on for a while. Then, I happened. My mum came looking for him in Dragonstone and found out about Elia . . . well, they found out about each other . . . and even though he didn’t really deserve it, Elia forgave him and they agreed to let me and Rhae be siblings.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah.”

“How long has it been since they died?”

“Seven years. She’s not always sad _per se._ We don’t really talk about it that much, but I’m usually around to try to take her mind off things, which is what she needs more than anything. My mom isn’t really good for that stuff. She has her own guilt that she feels about it. I’ll find some memes later to send Rhae to make her laugh so she doesn’t go to bed crying.”

“Is it hard for _you_?”

He shrugged. “I lost my emotionally distant asshole dad. She lost him and a really nice mom. It’s harder for her.”

Without thinking about what she was doing, Sansa stepped forward and pulled him into a hug. She felt his hands hesitate for a second at her waist before going all the way around her back, and although the act was meant to comfort _him_ , Sansa felt awash in relief and contentment herself. He sighed into her neck and Sansa felt goose bumps form along her arms. Remembering what she was wearing, she pulled away leaving her hands on his shoulders.

“I have an idea.”

“What?”

“Let me see your phone,” she said.

Jon offered a confused smile. “For what?”

“Just do it,” she said, laughing.

He held it out for her. Sansa took it, then glanced at Jon for a second before looking back down. After a few taps, she held it to her ear, prompting Jon to say, “What are you doing?”

“You’ve told her about me, right?” But before he could answer, Rhaenys answered on the other end.

“Hey, butt-munch. I thought you were going out tonight.”

“Hi, Rhaenys,” Sansa said as Jon brought his hands to his face.

“Who is this?” said the confused voice on the other side. “Why do you have my brother’s phone.”

“Your brother is standing right here. This is Sansa Stark.”

There was silence on the other end for a long moment. Then: “VERY FUNNY, JON!” Rhaenys screamed. Sansa held it away from her ear with a laugh.

“OK, I’m going to put you on speaker,” Sansa said, tapping the screen. “I just want to say I hope you come to Winterfell to visit Jon because I can’t wait to meet you and have you cook for us. According to your brother, the only proper Dornish food is made by your hand so I’m very much looking forward to trying it. I hope you have good night.”

Again, there was no response.

“I think she’s figured out it’s not a gag,” he said, taking back the phone. “I love you, Rhae. Let’s talk tomorrow. Good night.”

“SEND A PICTURE OR IT DIDN’T HAPPEN!” Rhae yelled out before Jon, laughing, hung up. Then, he turned to take a selfie. Sansa stepped up behind him, standing on her tip toes so she could wrap her arms around his shoulders, and smiled.

He texted Rhaenys the photo, then turned back to Sansa. “Thank you for that.”

“Can you pay me back the favor?”

“I don’t think a call from me would cheer up anyone.”

Laughing, Sansa turned her back to him. “I can’t reach these buttons.”

_Is this a big enough gesture, Jeyne?_ Sansa thought to herself.

She didn’t hear him move behind her. Looking over her shoulder, she said, “Well?”

“Um . . .”

She laughed. “It’s OK. It’s just a dress. It won’t bite.”

“It’s not the dress I’m worried about,” he said, the timber of his voice, now close enough she could feel it against her neck that made her wonder whether he had received the signal this time.

But then she felt his fingers against her back and suddenly her nerves got the better of her. “Just think, someday you can tell people you undressed the queen once,” she said, soft and feeling like she’d exposed a wound.

His fingers stopped and pulled away. “You don’t really think I’m that much of a douche bag, do you?”

Sansa turned to look him in the eyes, which were full of sincere worry.

_I’m in love with him._

_Fuck._

“No,” she said finally.

He blinked several times. “Do you want me to keep going?”

She held her breath, trying to control a whole new set of emotions that felt entirely unfamiliar and overwhelming. “I . . . uh, I think I can manage it from here.”

“OK,” he said, but didn’t move.

“You know, if we put our mind to it, between the two of us, I bet we can find a documentary on Northern independence on TV in the lounge. I know that’s incredibly nerdy.”

“I think by nerdy, you mean awesome.”

She grinned. “Let me change back into Clark Kent again, and I’ll see you in there, sound good?”

Jon Snow smiled the beautiful smile she loved. “Yeah.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the future and in the present, it's Jon's birthday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another glimpse at their future life to start off, and a lot of action in the present: Lyanna finally learns who Jon is getting to know, there's a little Robb and Jon time, and finally, it's Jon's birthday and . . . well, you'll see.

**Jon, age 30**

“Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday, dear Jon! Happy birthday to you!”

Through the fog of half-sleep Jon heard the quiet voice of his wife singing playfully in his ear. He didn’t open his eyes though. He was lying face down, smiling into his pillow and could feel her warm hand on his bare shoulder.

“Hey, old man! Are you hard of hearing already?”

Finally, his laugher gave him away. He rolled over quickly to pull her down and trap her beneath him, and she let out a yelp. “Are you really calling me old when I’m six months younger than you.”

“No,” she said, grinning, “I just knew that would work.”

He leaned down to kiss her, which she happily accepted. Jon slowly moved his hand over her hip and started pulling up on her night gown so he could get to her skin. He felt her lips pulling into a smile as they continued to kiss. Finally, she pulled away and whispered, “Wait for it.”

A second later, a set of quick footsteps outside their door turned into the insistent sound of palms against wood.

Jon heard a prim, “May he come in?” to which Sansa responded, “Give us a second.”

Sansa laughed at Jon’s look of annoyance as he scrambled around in the bed covers to locate his pajama bottoms, having only managed to slip back into his boxers late into the night after Sansa unveiled herself wearing his first birthday present at midnight.

He managed to pull the pants back on and found the top on the floor just as Sansa, robe on, said, “Come in!”

“Dadadadadadada.”

Jon couldn’t help but smile as the 18-month-old boy toddled over. He lifted him up and rubbed his nose against the boy’s belly causing him to erupt in giggles.

“Good morning, your highnesses,” the nanny said with a curtsey.

“Good morning, nanny. Thank you for staying with him last night. I think the birthday boy enjoyed the lie in.”

“I did, thank you.”

“I’d be happy to take Robbie down to breakfast, if you’d like a bit more time.”

“No, we’ll take it from here,” Sansa said, “but if you could bring his tray up, that would be wonderful.”

“Of course, and happy birthday, sir.”

“Thank you,” Jon replied with a smile.

With another curtsey, she was gone.

Sansa sat back down on the bed, where Jon had tossed the little boy playfully.

“Robbie, should we give daddy his present?”

"Pez-ent."

“It’s not some sort of food this year?” Jon asked.

“We’re breaking tradition.”

Sansa went over to her nightstand to take out a small box wrapped in bright red paper. She handed it to Robbie, who immediately started tearing into it.

“Hey, I think that’s for me,” Jon said, tickling him, prompting another fit of giggles. Whether coming from his wife or his son, it was Jon's favorite sound in the world.

“Technically, it’s for all of us.”

Jon raised his eyebrows in question.

“Just open it.”

Jon pulled Robbie onto his lap. “OK, let’s do it together.”

Once it was unwrapped, Jon pulled the top off the box to find a familiar looking stick.

A pregnancy test.

It was positive.

* * *

**Jon, age 20**

“OK, are you ready?”

“You can cut the theatrics, Rhaenys,” Jon said, leaning his head on his hand, exasperated but amused.

He was watching his sister—visible in the FaceTime window, which he had maximized to fill his laptop screen—hold up her phone with an eager expression on her face. Sitting next to her, Jon’s mother looked back and forth between Rhaenys and her own laptop screen, utterly confused.

“I’m not talking to you, OK!” Rhae responded, looking pointedly at Jon, via the computer. “This is Lyanna’s moment!”

“Kids, what is this?” Lyanna asked.

“Just show it to her already!” Jon said.

With a roll of her eyes, but clearly excited, Rhaenys tapped her phone a few times, then held up the screen again. Jon saw the image only for a moment before Rhaenys turned it back to Lyanna. It was the selfie he’d taken with Sansa a month back, after Sansa and Rhae had spoken on the phone. Sansa was grinning— _gorgeous_ —with her arms wrapped around his neck. He had looked at the picture, _stared_ at it, more times than he’d be ready to admit to anyone since the moment he had taken it.

(They had spent several more late nights since then watching movies together in the lounge, catching up about the week, laughing about Robb and Margaery’s latest drama, deconstructing Dr. Lannister’s latest lecture or bouncing off ideas about the project Jon was meant to turn in at the end of the year. The intimacy of that night had not manifested itself again—no beautiful gowns, no Sansa looking at him with those eyes over her shoulder asking him to help her out of it—but they had settled into a comfortable rapport that Jon genuinely enjoyed.)

“What am I looking at?” Lyanna asked as she moved her glasses down to the end of her nose and leaned into the phone, eyes squinted. Jon smiled at the familiar move. “Oh, Jon! This is a good picture of you!”

“Not the point!” Rhaenys said.

“I’m just saying, his eyes are open and he’s smiling,” Lyanna said.

“I know, it’s a miracle,” Rhaenys deadpanned.

“Can you send it to me?” Lyanna asked.

“Yes, OK! But look at who else is in the picture already!” Rhaenys said.

“Who is it?” Lyanna said. “Do I know her?”

“Jon’s new best friend.”

“She’s not my best friend.”

“Is there anyone there you are better friends with?”

Jon paused for a beat. “No.”

“Then, shut up and let me have this!”

“Will you kids, quiet down. I can’t focus. Oh, Jon! She’s cute! Is this a potential girlfriend?”

He could only respond with laughter. “No, mum.”

“Look closer!” Rhaenys insisted. “Does she look familiar? Can’t you see who it is!?!”

Lyanna looked at Rhae from the side of her eyes. “I can see fine,” she said, but moved her glasses down and squinted over them again. “She . . . wait—she does look familiar. She kind of looks like . . . the princess?”

Rhaenys cackled. “YES! That’s _her_!”

“WHAT?!”

“This is a picture of Jon with _the_ Princess Sansa!”

Lyanna grabbed the phone out of Rhaenys’ hand. “Seven save me! Give me this."

“I got to talk to her on the phone!” Rhaenys said.

“You _what_?”

“She’s even asked me to cook for her! Isn’t that ah-may-zing!”

“You met Princess Sansa?” Lyanna asked Jon, turning back to the computer, pushing the phone back into Rhaenys’ hands and peering into the image of her son on the screen. On his end, Jon laughed at the manic look on his mother’s face.

“Yes,” he responded with a sigh.

“You’re blushing,” Rhaenys said, leaning into Lyanna so their heads were touching in a way that Jon thought was sweet.

“No, I’m not,” he said.

“Whatever.”

“Jon! Oh my goodness! You got to meet her! That’s so cool!”

“He didn’t just meet her,” Rhaenys cut in. “He’s friends with her! He _lives_ with her!”

“I don’t live with her!”

“You live with her?”

“Mum, I just said I don’t live with her.”

“He does too!”

“I live across the hall from her. We’re in the same dormitory.”

“Which means you live with her!” Rhaenys said.

“How did that even happen?” Lyanna asked.

“Just weird luck,” Jon said. “She’s just like any other student here.”

“Seven _fucking_ hells,” Lyanna said, causing Rhaenys to laugh.

She leaned into the computer saying. “I’ve literally never heard Lyanna say ‘fuck’ before. This is officially the best night of my life.”

“You obviously haven’t spent that much time with her, then,” Jon said with a smirk.

“I do kind of censor myself around you,” Lyanna said, looking at Rhaenys, “but that ends now. Both of you tell me everything!”

“Well, Jon’s the one who knows her,” Rhaenys said, raising her eyebrows at him expectantly. “He met her, like, the first day.”

“You’ve known her since you got there, and you’re just now telling me!”

“And only because I insisted!”

Jon scratched his head. “I don’t know . . . it’s a weird thing to make a big deal about. She’s a normal person. And I mean that in the best way possible.”

“What’s she like?” Lyanna asked.

Jon considered how to answer this question. With his mother and sister, of all people, he could be honest, but talking about Sansa also felt like he was giving away a secret. He had come to understand that he knew Her Royal Highness the Crown Princess Sansa—who was, by circumstances of birth rather than her own initiative, one of the most famous people in the world—in a way only a handful of friends would ever get to. This was not merely because few had access to the world in which the crown princess lived, but because even among those who could know her, she didn’t let just anybody in. Knowing Sansa Stark, being someone she considered a friend, was something to be treasured. How to even begin to describe that? There were not enough words in the universe.

“She’s . . . great,” he said, knowing how lame it sounded. “She’s intelligent and sweet and just . . . a very nice friend. Like I said, she’s mostly just a normal person.”

Lyanna sat back and put her hand on her heart, which again caused Rhaenys to laugh. “That’s so sweet! She does have a kind face. Oh, honey, that’s so amazing. Let me see that picture again.”

Rhaenys grinned as she brought her phone back out and Lyanna looked at it, and over mouth like she was about to cry.

“Will you print this out for me? I want to frame it.”

Jon closed his eyes, endeared but also worried. “Can you just not take it to work or show it to anybody?”

“Why not?”

“He had to sign like an NDA or something,” Rhaenys said.

“I did not,” Jon retorted.

“A what?” Lyanna asked.

“She means a non-disclosure agreement,” Jon said. “And I didn’t sign one."

“Well, if you did, that would make sense,” Lyanna said. “From everything I’ve read, she’s very private.”

“Mum, I doubt anything you’ve read about her is actually true. And, again, I didn’t actually have to sign an NDA,” Jon said. “She hasn’t asked me to keep anything secret.”

“So, you just want to respect her privacy,” Rhaenys said, winking at Lyanna. “We get it.”

“She has a very undisturbed life here,” Jon said. “I don’t want to be the asshole who messes that up for her.”

“That’s sweet of you, dear, and I’m sure she appreciates it,” Lyanna said. “Ooh! Maybe she’ll give you a job or something.”

“Or something,” Rhaenys said suggestively.

“Please shut up,” Jon said.

“I think he has a crush,” Rhaeneys said with a giggle.

“Who wouldn’t?” Lyanna said. “She has a boyfriend, though, doesn’t she? Is she still with that sweet blonde boy. Harry, I think?”

“Harry Hardyng,” Jon spit out.

“Yes! His dad is a politician,” Lyanna said. “I read somewhere that they went to college to be together away from prying eyes. There’s been rumors that they broke up, but most people think they’re trying to fake everyone out so that the tabloids leave them alone. That must be so hard on her. Do you know him too?”

Jon rubbed his face with his hands as his mother spoke. It was common for her to refer to the royals like cousins she kept in distant touch with. It would have been funny to hear it now, if he didn’t know first-hand how utterly false it all was. “Yes, I do know Harry, and actually, mum, he’s a huge asshole.”

“Oh, really? Well, that’s too bad. They make a very handsome couple.”

“They also aren’t a couple anymore, and I’m only saying that on the promise that you don’t share that with anyone—I mean it. Her life is her business.”

“OK, OK, ” Lyanna said. “Who am I going to tell anyway? I’m happy for you, though.”

“Like I said, getting to live in Pembroke Hall was just a stroke of luck.”

“No, I mean, you’re out there living a wonderful life, meeting interesting people, having great experiences, learning cool stuff—exactly as you should be. And look how happy you look!” Lyanna looked back at the photo. “When have you ever smiled at your mother’s camera like this? I’m just proud of you, OK?”

Jon chuckled. “Thanks, mum.”

“Ahem!”

Lyanna laughed and put her arm around Rhaenys. “And he wouldn’t have done any of this without you, darling, so thank you!”

“You’re welcome!” she replied brightly. “You too!” she added offering Jon a pointed look, causing him to laugh. “So what are you doing for your birthday? Any royal traditions you can get in on?”

Jon laughed. “No, nobody even knows it’s my birthday and it’s on the university’s fall break so most everyone is going to be heading home for a few days. I’ll have the corridor to myself—at least until Sam comes.”

“Oh, I forgot he was going to visit,” Lyanna said. “That’s so nice of him. Well, go out somewhere nice for dinner while he’s there and put it on my credit card. We’ll call that your birthday present.”

“Speaking of, found any good restaurants yet?” Rhaenys asked.

“Not really—well, there’s this bakery, Old Nan’s. They have great croissants that melt in your mouth. Other than that, no. There’s a pseudo-Dornish place I’ve been to a couple of times that my hall mates like.”

“Oh, does the princess like it?” Lyanna asked.

“If she does it’s only because she hasn’t tasted _my_ food, obviously,” Rhaneys said. “I wish I could come anytime soon, but with the pastry chef taking a full maternity leave, it’ll be next year before I get time off at the restaurant.”

As Rhaenys was talking, Jon heard a noise just outside his room, and a split second later, Robb burst in without knocking, as was his and Theon’s usual custom.

“Hey, Snow, I’m going to the Commons to grab dinner, do you want to come?”

“Oh, is this a friend?” Lyanna asked excitedly. “Can we meet him?”

Before Jon could say, _no, absolutely not_ , Robb realized what he’d walked in on and immediately came over to lean into the view of the laptop’s camera over Jon’s shoulder.

“Hey,” Robb said smiling, “Are you Jon’s people?”

“Yes, I’m his mother and this is his sister,” Lyanna said and she and Rhaenys both grinned and waved. “And you are . . . ?”

“I am in total shock that Snow, here, is in any way related to such beautiful women.”

“Oh, you’re a charmer,” Lyanna responded, shaking her head and smiling.

“Robb Tully, at your service, and forever in your debt that you sent your son to entertain us for the year. He’s been a great addition to our rugby club. We might actually win the league.”

“Tully,” Lyanna repeated. “So you must be the queen’s nephew?”

“I am, indeed. Jon said you were a native Northerner. I can’t remember whereabouts, though.”

“Winter Town, and not the nice part of town.”

Jon felt some heat come into his cheeks, but Robb chuckled, not missing a beat. “But I bet is was the _fun_ part of town.”

Lyanna laughed. “Too fun. So tell me, Robb, _honestly_ , is Jon doing OK up there?”

“Just fine, I’d say. Complains too much of the cold, and we haven’t even gotten to real winter yet.”

“Is he behaving himself?”

Robb laughed again. “I’m afraid a bit more than I would like.”

“Well, you have my permission to get him into a tiny bit of trouble, but only a tiny bit.”

“I’ll try my best.”

“Actually, his birthday is a week from today!” Rhaenys said. “Throw him a huge party! I’m sure he’d love that.”

“What?” Robb turned to Jon, who was pinching the bridge of his nose.

“That is the opposite of the truth,” Jon said.

“Oh, now that I know, we are definitely doing something, Miss Snow,” Robb said. “You can bet on it.”

“Thank you, and it’s Miss Targaeryan, actually, but you can just call me Rhae,” she said with a wink.

Seeing that Robb was about to respond to what was clear flirting with the same, Jon cut in. “OK, I think we’ve talked along enough. Love you both! Bye!”

Without another word, Jon closed the laptop and stood up.

“What the hell!? I had my A-game ready!”

“You are _not_ flirting with my sister—certainly not with me sitting right here. And anyway, you’re forgetting about Margaery, who I share a very thin wall with!”

“More like she forgot about me,” Robb said with a dismissive shrug. “She’s now going out with some hedge fund asshole her older brother knows. Oddly enough, I think we’re finally _over_ over, and to be real, it’s time. My mind and my wallet have had enough.”

“Well, you’re not going to rebound with my sister.”

“If someone flirts with me, then I’m going to flirt back,” Robb said picking up a picture frame with a photo of Jon and Rhaenys from Jon’s desk. “It’s the laws of physics.”

Jon plucked it out of his hands. “You were saying something about dinner?”

“Yeah, it’s buy-one-get-one-free appetizers night at The Wall.”

“Aren’t you rich?” Jon furrowed his brow. “You’re not always insisting on eating cheap food because of me, are you? I guess I appreciate the solidarity, but I can afford to eat out once in a while.”

Robb looked like he was taken aback, but Jon wondered if he’d hit onto something because Robb didn’t respond right away. “No. Maybe a little at first, but I do genuinely love the cheese fries there, and it seems silly not to take advantage of an opportunity to get twice the amount. Yes, I’m rich, but I’m not stupid.”

“Far be it for me to stand between a man and cheese fries.”

Robb chuckled, and Jon picked up his keys, wallet and a sweater. As they made their way out of the room, Robb took Jon’s arm. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“For what?”

Robb shrugged. “Being a rich asshole? The general state of the world?” He stepped away and looked down with a smile. “My father, Brynden Tully—“

“ _The_ Brynden Tully,” Jon asked in mocking awe.

Robb looked at him, confused. “You know who he is?”

“Of course, I don’t,” Jon said. “I’m giving you shit.”

Robb threw his head back in laughter. After he caught his breath again, he said, “You’re a good dude, Snow.”

“I can’t say the word ‘dude’ unironically, so I’ll just respond with ‘likewise.’”

Robb laughed again, shaking his head. As they started walking down the corridor back toward Robb’s room, Jon asked, “What were you going to say about your dad?”

“It’s not really that important, but . . . he’s a career military guy. He’s never had much patience for bullshit.”

“OK.”

“If ever I do anything that requires me being called out, I guarantee that he would want—nay, demand—that you do it.”

“Maybe you _should_ go out with my sister,” Jon said with a laugh. “Calling out bullshit is kind of her specialty. She tends to be attracted to assholes, though, so I don’t think she’ll go for you.”

“I should probably swear off women for a while,” Robb said with a dramatic sigh that made Jon laugh as they stepped out of Pembroke into the cold evening air. Robb, in turn, laughed at Jon as he pulled the sweater he’d brought with him on. “I can’t wait until January and see you contend with two-foot snow drifts.”

* * *

The boys made dinner out of six plates of appetizers—paying only for three—and a couple of beers. It was a Thursday night, so the place was packed. When they made their way back to Pembroke, Jeyne and Sansa were chatting on the sofa in the lobby, waiting for a pizza, which arrived only minutes after the boys did. The girls and Jon settled in the lounge while Robb went to his room to get a six-pack of beer. He came back with that and Theon in tow. 

“So when’s everyone leaving for fall break?” Robb asked.

“Right after my 8:30 on Wednesday,” Jeyne said. “My grandfather’s birthday is Thursday, and dad wants everyone home the day before.”

“I have a paper to turn in that’s due at 5 p.m. on Wednesday,” Theon said, “and as much I wish I could get it done Tuesday night, I think we can all agree, I’ll be hitting send on that email at 4:59.”

Sansa laughed along with everyone, then said, “I’m not sure. Why?”

“Well, I think it’s going to have to wait until we come back, but I think it’s officially time for First Pembroke’s first party of the year. It’s Snow’s birthday next week.”

Jon rolled his eyes but couldn’t help but laugh as Sansa, Jeyne and Theon all joined in achorus of “Whaaaat?”

“We are definitely marking this occasion,” Theon said. “I’ll even get candles for my special brownies.”

“Ew,” Jeyne said. “I think we can manage a real cake, Theon.”

“That’s nice that you can go home for it,” Sansa said.

“Actually, I’ll be here for fall break,” Jon said. “It didn’t seem worth the price of the ticket for four days back.”

“But you can’t be by yourself on your birthday!”

“I won’t be the whole time. My friend Sam is coming to visit. He’ll be here Friday through Sunday.”

Sansa narrowed her eyes at Jon, as if wanting to say something. He held her stare until they heard Jeyne speak up. “Are we starting this movie?”

“What are we watching?” Robb asked.

“The new Jaime Lannister one,” Jeyne replied.

“That guy is such a tool,” Theon said.

Jeyne huffed. “A hot one!"

When it was over, everyone headed out of the lounge back toward their rooms. Jon and Sansa found themselves in front of their facing doors.

“Can I come in for a second?” she asked in a whisper.

Jon opened his door and held it open for her to walk through.

“So when is your birthday exactly?”

“A week from today.”

“My sister is a November baby too,” Sansa replied. “November 30.”

Jon smiled as she twisted her arms into her chest, something he’d come to learn meant she was nervous, though he wasn’t sure why she would be in this moment.

“Anyway, um, if you don’t have plans, I’m probably going to stay on campus too. I could take you on a tour of Winterfell Castle.”

Jon blinked. “Really?”

“Sure. It’s only open for visitors during the summer, so there won’t be tourists. There’s a handful of staff who are always around, but other than that, we’ll have the run of the place.”

“OK.” If his answer didn’t sound properly enthusiastic it was more owing to shock than anything, but she seemed to have read him as uninterested.

“We don’t really have to, if you don’t want to.”

“No, I do. It sounds great.”

She smiled sweetly. “Great. I’ll set things up.” With what seemed like an embarrassed nod, she said, “Well, good night.”

“Good night, Sansa.”

After she’d let herself out, Jon changed into pajamas and got in bed. The last thing he did before turning off his lamp and closing his eyes was scroll through his email on his phone.

He also may or may not have looked at _that_ picture one more time.

* * *

On his 21st birthday, Jon Snow let himself sleep in. After taking a call from his mother, who insisted on singing the birthday song to him, he went out for a long run, which he enjoyed despite the chill in the air. After a hot shower, he sat with his feet up on his desk and read a book Dr. Lannister had recommended to inform his independent study on Queen Sansa, first of her name. He was so engrossed in it that when he heard the knock on his door, he almost fell out of his chair.

“I know I’m early,” Sansa said by way of greeting, “but I had to make some last minute changes to our itinerary.”

Jon smiled at how bright-eyed and eager she looked. “We really don’t have to do anything today, so if something came up and you need to cancel, please don’t feel bad.”

“Of course, I’m not canceling!” she replied, putting her hands on her hips like a school marm in a way that Jon found too adorable. Jon moved back into the room to put his shoes on and grab his messenger bag, and Sansa followed him inside. “I know a day to be all alone is a gift onto itself, but it will be a fun day, I promise.”

After Jon had packed his nice camera, a notebook and a pen, the book he was reading, a sweater and his wallet into his bag, he and Sansa set off. They had meant to start with lunch at Old Nan’s, but one of Sansa’s last minute changes took them in the opposite direction. As they neared the university’s administrative building, Jon grew puzzled. 

“All will be revealed in time,” Sansa said, noticing.

As the university’s brochures on the campus’ history noted, the administrative building had once served as the Winterfell fortress’ Great Keep and, thus, the first queen’s residence. Her solar had been recreated in the section of the current royal residence at Winterfell that was open for tourists, but now, because of its small size, it served as the office of the primary executive assistant to the university’s chancellor, whose office was in what had been the lord’s chambers. the secretary greeted the princess and her friend with curtsey and a smile. The rooms were small but it was hard to forget that it was the seat of the country’s history. It was as if the space reverberated with history.

The plump fifty-ish woman had silver hair, styled in a bun, and wore a navy skirt suit. “The chancellor will be just a moment. May I get you some water?”

Jon looked to Sansa, who shook her head. “Thank you, but we won’t be long, and thank you for accommodating us.”

“Cancelations are rare on the chancellor’s schedule, so it’s a lucky day.”

“Indeed,” Sansa said, looking at Jon.

A minute later, the door to the larger, adjoining room opened and Chancellor Lewin waved them inside.

“It’s nice of you to drop by, Miss Stark,” he said, smiling at Sansa. The man, whom Jon had never met, turned to him then and stuck his hand out. “Mr. Snow, I presume.”

“Yes, sir, it’s an honor to meet you.”

“Likewise. I make it a point to attend the final presentations the Mormont scholars make to the History Department at the end of the year. I look forward to yours and will rattle the department’s cages a bit about choosing a southern scholar with a Northern name. Has your family done any research into your ancestry?”

“I know Snow’s a common name in the North but not much more beyond that.”

“Once children born out of wedlock were allowed to take their mother’s name, which happened during the first queen’s reign, the name Snow stopped proliferating, so tracing its origins all the way back to those times, is easier for Snow than most other names.”

“My mother wasn’t really interested in things like that.”

“Probably smart,” he said with a smile. “Let’s get on with it, then.” 

Jon looked over to Sansa, who quickly said. “I told the chancellor of your research on the first queen and thought that a visit to his office would be of interest.”

When Jon looked back to the chancellor, he had turned and walked behind his desk, where a curtain of dark grey hung such that it blended into the wall and wasn’t noticed by Jon until the chancellor pulled on a rope just to the side of it. Slowly, as the curtain moved, what hid behind it came into view. It was a portrait of the queen, much like the one that hung in the Pembroke lobby, but protected by glass on all sides.

“This here is the oldest known portrait of her. If it seems familiar, that’s because there are numerous copies of it, including on our campus.”

Jon took a step forward. It was impossible to know just how much the paint had faded, but the color of her hair was unmistakable as were the two wolves atop her head. There was detail in what was visible of her dress that Jon knew had significance, but he was too taken by her serene expression to pay much mind toanything beyond her face.

“Is it odd to say that I think you favor her?” he heard himself saying.

Sansa smiled. “I think the hair color probably makes it seem like there is more resemblance than there actually is.”

“One of the privileges of holding this office is the chance to look upon this at one’s leisure. When I met her highness several years back now, that was the first thing that came to my mind as well. As a historian myself, I was always puzzled that more women in the royal line were not given the first queen’s name, but I imagine that time waited for an heir who would be equal to it, and though she shall contradict me, my acquaintance of our future queen suggests she is.”

Sansa pursed her lips as a light blush came over her cheeks that Jon thought was owing to both being proud and slightly embarrassed. He didn’t say it aloud but he couldn’t have agreed more. Her life, luckily, was not marked by the tragedy and loss that had forged the mind and will that the first queen came to be known for, but this Sansa had grace, intelligence and poise that served the legacy she would be handed well. Jon obviously couldn’t begin to know what her life would actually be like, beyond the televised ceremonies his mother had occasionally made him sit through as a child, but even just setting people at ease with pleasantries—something nobody would begin to suggest Jon was good at—was something that came naturally to her. Sansa was the most thoughtful person he knew and unassuming in a way few would expect from someone of such privilege. That the first queen was her ancestor was the least surprising thing about her.

“What do you think, Mr. Snow?”

“She looks young,” he replied, looking at the painting again. “People forget just how much she endured before she became queen—that’s the part of her life I’m most interested in, the events that ultimately led to the separation of the North and the South.”

“There are, indeed, few likenesses of her from early in her life. Portraiture was not a common art form in the North in those times. Stone masonry on the other hand.”

Jon and Sansa chuckled nervously at what they both guessed was meant to be historical humor.

“We don’t want to take more of your time, chancellor,” Sansa said. “Thank you for letting us see the portrait.”

“I appreciate the visit,” he replied with a smile. “A nice break from the usual business. Oh, you should have a look at the view before you go.” He walked them over to the picture window directly in front of his desk.

It was the fourth floor—not terribly high—but the main quad was visible and beyond it the tree-lined path that led to the village Commons, the path Jon had walked with Sansa on his first morning there.

“Now, when this was Winterfell’s Great Keep, the window would not have been this large—if there was even one here. When the royal family moved its official seat to White Harbor and donated the grounds to the university, the battlements that surrounded the grounds were taken down. Some of the stone went to White Harbor, most of it to the new Winterfell Castle and the rest was added to this building." Chancellor Lewin pointed to two sets of piles on either side of the large window. "The battlements were part of what gave Winterfell its identity. The stones were arranged around this building in the same manner, so even though we are inside, the effect is meant to mimic what it might have been like to stand on them half a millennium ago and look out to the outside world.”

“Why were they taken down, at all?” Jon asked.

“Their purpose was to keep people out, and they served that purpose well, but it was a purpose contrary to the mission of the university.” Stepping away, the chancellor said, “Have a photo if you like.”

Jon lifted his camera again and tried to get as much of the view in as possible. He stepped to the left side of the window and leaned against the wall to try to capture some of the stone masonry just outside of it. When he lowered his camera, he noticed that Sansa was leaning against the other side of the window looking out and on whim took a quick shot of her before she even noticed what he was doing.

“Warn a girl first,” she said in a cute, low voice. She held his eyes for a moment and Jon thought, when she finally turned away to say something to the chancellor, that he would need to get a hold of his more inappropriate thoughts where Sansa was concerned if he was going to get through the day in one piece.

Minutes later, they said their goodbyes and walked out of the building and back onto the quad, which was quiet. Taking the path toward Old Nan’s that they had just looked at from the chancellor’s window, Jon realized that with everyone gone for fall break, the campus was as quiet today as it had been on that first morning and he was grateful for that. As much as he loved being a student and his classes, there was something special about just being in this place. He knew Sansa loved it too, and that she treasured the time she had been given to live on campus. Perhaps any other student would have taken that for granted, but given his own experience, living at home his first two years of college, Jon could see why it was so important to Sansa and why it had been so important to his sister that he get to experience it as well. It was, perhaps, an odd thing to have in common, but he liked that they had it.

“The chancellor thinks highly of you,” he said, as they walked.

Sansa smiled. “I owe him so much. My father would never have agreed to let me study here without his help.”

“Really?”

“My father is a Castle Black man, as was his father and his father. My great-great-grandmother was the last queen and didn’t go to university.”

“Women lived a different life back then.”

“In my father’s eyes, the way we live is more like Queen Lyarra did than how the rest of our world lives, and he’s not wrong. The world is entirely new for everyone else, but not that different for an HRH.”

“HRH?”

“His or Her Royal Highness.”

“Oh, right.” He shook his head laughing at himself. “I feel very stupid not getting that.”

“Consider yourself blessed not having to know that.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Sansa stopped abruptly and grabbed him by the arm. “I’m so sorry—saying that was incredibly insensitive. I don’t mean to suggest that I am in any way not a lucky and privileged person, I—“

Jon put his hand over the one that had taken his arm. “Sansa, you don’t have to qualify yourself with me. We’re friends, right?”

“I hope so.”

“Then you can be honest and please don’t ever feel like you have to . . . perform a role with me.”

Her shoulders relaxed in relief, which made him smile. “I don’t always do that with you, in case you’re wondering, and I know how weird it is to feel like I have to put on a different filter when I’m talking to most people. My mother used to tell me that I never have to explain myself but I can’t complain either—at least not publicly.”

They started walking again, and Jon said, “My sister would agree that there’s no greater mark of friendship than the ability to bitch about something to someone.”

The sweetest giggle came out of Sansa’s mouth and she stopped again as it bubbled into full-blown laughter. “I really like her,” Sansa said, wiping tears from her eyes.

“Maybe someday you’ll actually get to have a proper conversation with her.”

Sansa stumbled as Jon spoke. “Right,” she said, catching herself on his shoulder.

He looked at her for a moment. “Anyway, I know you’re not comparing yourself to children who live in poverty. Everyone has shit to deal with that makes life suck sometimes, and for what it’s worth, I do consider myself lucky not to have to deal with all the etiquette and political landmines your life comes with because I, no doubt, would step on every single one.”

Sansa’s lips pursed into what looked to Jon like a slight frown. “I think you’d do OK.”

“I know what it’s like to put a face on for other people. That’s normal. I don’t talk much, definitely not about my family.”

“You’ve told _me_ about your family.”

“I don’t hate talking to you the way I do most people.”

Sansa smile. “That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

“Now, you’re just pulling my leg.”

“It’s true if we’re judging on sincerity.”

They walked in silence for a while, and finally made it to Old Nan’s where they sat down for sandwiches and coffee, Sansa’s treat.

“So your father really didn’t want you to go to university?” He asked.

“It’s not that he didn’t want me to go. He just didn’t know what to do with me. _Doesn’t_ know. I take pride in my father issues, though. Another just-like-everyone-else thing about me.”

“Well, I wish I could offer sage advice on fathers, but I have none.”

“Oh, Jon, I’m sorry.”

“Not at all. I don’t say it because he’s dead. He sucked.”

Sansa but her lip. “I’m not defending him, obviously, but I imagine losing a baby at birth was hard.”

“Yeah . . . “ Jon sighed and took a sip of his coffee. “It’s weird because I think before he and Elia lost their baby, he was just a run of the mill asshole. Then I was born, and it was like he was mad at life for giving him what he wanted but not in the way that he wanted it. He felt guilty and he needed someone to hate him. Mum and Elia were too sensible for that, so he put it on me. And, of course, now I have to live with the fact that I didn’t get the time to grow out of it, you know. Nothing is more basic than hating your father.”

Sansa lifted her mug and they clinked, smiling at each other.

“At least you can blame him,” Sansa said, after taking a sip. “I don’t blame mine. I can’t. He’s not a bad person or a bad king. He’s a wonderful public servant and he loves me and my mother and sister. It’s just that . . . he has a job, and eventually it will be my job, and he doesn’t know how to teach me how to do it, mostly because there’s no shared language between us. That’s my fault, if anyone’s.”

“No, it isn’t.”

Sansa rolled her eyes.

“I’m serious. So you’re not into the same things.” Jon shrugged. “Who cares? Making an effort is more on him than you.”

Sansa laughed at herself and leaned her head on her hand. “I think, in retrospect, I wanted the dad who puts on a silly hat to play pretend tea party with his daughter, but instead I got actual tea parties with bespoke fascinators and priceless china, which is what’s appropriate in our world if not anyone else's.”

“Maybe you can modernize the monarchy.”

“I think that’s a contradiction in terms.”

“I don’t know,” he said. “I’d say you’re doing it already. Did your mother go to university?”

Sansa shook her head. “She met my father when she was 13. Being childhood sweethearts made the next steps easy. They married as soon as he took his commission at Castle Black when he was 22 and she was 21.”

Jon thought for a moment. “I can’t imagine being ready for marriage at this age. Did she do a job or anything?”

“Yes and no. When she was done with finishing school, she already knew she would marry him and so did her family. The Tullys established a foundation for her to do charitable work so she had something until his military training was over. The charity remains functional with her as the patron.”

“Did he expect you would do the same?”

“Honestly, I’m not sure what he expected. Like I said, he’s never known what to do with me. In his experience, the man was always the one with the title. Even when Queen Lyarra lived, she was allowed to marry for love because she had a cousin who loved her and who understood her role. So far as childhood sweethearts go, my sister won that lottery.”

Jon looked at her, puzzled. “She’s . . . married already?”

“No, no, no! She claims she never wants to get married, but we’ve known Gendry, her boyfriend, all our lives. He’s the son of our father’s best friend and has been following her around basically since they could both walk.”

“You could always abdicate, run away somewhere warm and leave it all to her,” Jon said, jokingly.

Sansa laughed. “She’d find me and kill me. And she’s also at Castle Black now, so she’ll have the training for it.”

“Have you ever thought of doing that?” Jon asked quietly. “Just leaving. There would be massive disruption to your life, obviously, but . . .”

He watched her as she contemplated the question. “No. . . . I think a part of me always wonders what it would be like, but it’s always a fantasy I like to visit without thinking too hard about it.” She was quiet for another moment, then added, “I’ve always been scared of living up to the name, Sansa second of her name, but I want to, even within my more limited context.”

“You will,” Jon said. “You _do_.”

She smiled. “I think you’ve had too many of those croissants. It’s messing with your head.”

Jon laughed.

“Let’s get going.”

* * *

Sansa had called a car to come pick them up from Old Nan’s. One didn’t just walk into Winterfell Castle, after all. Upon arrival, one of the stewards took them through the two galleries that were kept locked, where there was a replica of the crown of two wolves on display. They walked down the hall of portraits of all the past Northern monarchs and Sansa shared stories of her grandfather Rickard Stark. Jon shared his own stories of his mother’s memories of the man, who’d been alive when she’d left the North for good, and whose death Jon remembered for the tears his mother shed. It felt, in a way, that it wasn’t just their interest in the country’s history that connected them, but their own families as well. Jon considered calling his mother right then and introducing them, but Lyanna would be visiting next month, to spend part of his winter break with him. And anyway, she might faint at the sound of Sansa’s voice. He had a notion, though, that they would get along, despite his mother’s sometimes overbearing nature. Lyanna liked having the royal family “in her life” so she bought into the tabloid stories for fun, but her son somehow knew when she met the real thing, she’d like that better.

It was early in the evening when Jon and Sansa came back to the first floor. After touring almost every room in the castle proper, she had taken him on a thorough walk of the grounds. They were both famished, and when she led him into the main dining room, Jon was overwhelmed by a series of familiar smells.

Oddly, his heart started to race.

He noticed that she’d gotten quiet when they’d stepped into the room and the silence became loaded as they moved along the long table to the end of it, where a series of chaffing dishes had been set up.

“Wh-what is this?” he asked.

He noticed Sansa’s cheeks had pinked slightly. “Open one.”

Jon lifted the first lid. Then the next. Then the next. By the time he’d gotten to the last one, he’d figured it out and didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

“Is she here?” he asked breathlessly.

Sansa, who was smiling but also looked like her eyes might be watering, shook her head. “I reached out to her through her blog and asked her if she wouldn’t mind sharing some recipes with the chef. She’s been on the phone with the kitchen staff all day to make sure they got everything just right.”

Jon felt like he couldn’t move.

Sansa went on. “When Robb said it was your birthday, I thought and thought about what would be the best thing to give you and I know you miss your family and you love your sister’s cooking, so I figured . . .” She lifted her arms to lamely point to the table, then brought them back into her chest, nervously wringing her hands. “Happy birthday, Jon.”

“This is the nicest thing anyone has ever done.”

Sansa rolled her eyes. “I didn’t actually do anything. Just an email and a couple of phone calls.”

“But . . . if you’d asked me what I’d wanted today, for my birthday, I wouldn’t have been able to articulate what.But this is it. This exact thing.”

She smiled. “I’m glad.”

Jon looked back at the food, then back at Sansa. He felt like he was standing at the edge of a cliff.

Step back or jump.

Step back or jump.

Step back or jump.

It took him five steps to get to her, and when he gently took her face in his hands, he saw that there had been tears in her eyes. But she was grinning now. Then, they kissed.

And they kissed.

And they kissed.

And they kissed.

Eventually, Jon pulled back thinking he could look at nothing else but her for the rest of his life.

“This is definitely not where I thought this day would go, but it’s officially the best best birthday ever.”

Sansa giggled and she was still so close, he felt the vibration of it everywhere. _Everywhere_. Looking back at the table, he said, “Um—“

“Yes, the chaffing dishes will keep it warm long enough,” Sansa said, suddenly pulling away and pulling him with her. The bed on which they landed may have been in the next room or the next town over. All Jon would remember is floating there, holding tight to her hand, watching the waves of her hair in front of him.

* * *

Much later, when they finally came back down to the dining room. The food was still warm and delicious. Though some of it was a tiny bit spicy for Sansa’s taste, she loved it and heartily agreed that the local Dornish restaurant their friends liked could not hold a candle to Rhae.

Thinking of her, Jon pulled his phone out to send a thank you text, but she had beaten him to the punch. There were three texts from Rhaenys waiting for him.

_Happy birthday, Jonny boy. Hope you enjoyed the feast ;)_

_Love you to bits. You deserve everything._

_But also you owe me fifty dragons._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, if you go back to the first chapter/prologue of this story, the moment between Jon and Sansa at the end of that chapter is what happens when they leave the dining room in this chapter, in case there was any doubt. Lol. 
> 
> For what it's worth, I don't think of Ned as a bad person in this story, just a bit stiff in the way old school fathers were, and having nothing to relate to in his daughter underscores the fact that they are a bit distant. There will be more on this later. 
> 
> There are probably only 3-4 chapters left and some time jumps will be involved. Hope you all continue to enjoy this! Please leave a comment and let me know what you think.
> 
> Lastly, if you have read The Royal We, you know the food and the bet are inspired by what happens in the book, even though it's slightly different. Incidentally, the sequel The Heir Affair came out this week. You don't have to know about or care about actual royals to enjoy them. They are both perfect summer reads.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after Jon's birthday, Sansa contemplates her past, her present and her future, and starts what will eventually become another meaningful friendship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No flashback or flash-forward this time. Just Sansa thinking about the fact that she may or may not have found The One. Hope you enjoy!

**Sansa, age 21**

Sansa couldn’t remember the last time she had slept this well. She hadn’t gotten a lot of sleep, but what sleep she had gotten had been deep and satisfying.

_Satisfying_.

When that word came to mind she laughed out loud, a giddy, airy laugh that was almost embarrassing for how girly it made her sound. She rolled over onto her stomach, pulled her pillow into her face and took a deep breath. Maybe it was all in her head, but in that moment, she could have sworn she still smelled him. She took another deep breath and then sat up, which caused her comforter to fall to her waist.

She was still naked.

More laughter bubbled out of her. Sansa never slept naked. Never. When she’d shared a bed regularly with anyone in the past, she would always insist on putting something back on after sex, and sometimes just got through the act without bothering to take her top off. It was funny to think of sex as something one “got through” after a long night of the best she’d ever had. Although she hadn’t started the day with the express intent of ending it by sleeping with Jon, she had hopes that maybe she would find the courage to try her hand at seducing him. In fact, the optimist in her had put a pack of three condoms in her bag ahead of the day she had planned for them, thinking they’d last the weekend if she got lucky. She laughed at the thought of the box, now empty along with its used contents at the bottom of her trash can.

_Lucky, indeed._

For once, the joke was not on her. Jon had exceeded her hopes in willingness and exuberance such that a part of her wanted to go back to that moment in the Pembroke lobby when he walked in for the first time just to tell herself to act on the impulse to kiss him. She wouldn’t consider the few months spent getting to know him a waste, but clearly, there was lost time in bed that they needed to make up for.

She pushed herself up again, and crawled to the end of her bed to pick up her phone from her desk. She noticed as she moved around how delightfully sore hips and inner things were. She saw the time, a little after eleven in the morning—Sansa hadn’t slept this late in ages—and noticed that she had texts from Jeyne and from Jon. In an effort to pace her gushing, she opened the text thread with Jeyne first.

**_Jeyne_** _: Soooooooo how was the birthday date with Jon._

**_Jeyne_** _: Shut up, of course it was a date_

Sansa laughed and typed back a response.

**_Sansa_** _: Amazing!_

**_Sansa_** _: Things happened._

As Sansa pondered how to explain without being too explicit, Jeyne beat her to the punch.

**_Jeyne_** _: ??? SEX things?!_

**_Sansa_** _: Um, yes._

**_Sansa_** _: It was so good. Obscenely good._

**_Sansa_** _: (So yes, it was a date, after all.)_

She watched the dots pop up on the screen as she waited for Jeyne to respond. Her text came less than a minute later.

**_Jeyne_** _: Aaaaaaaaaaaah!_

**_Jeyne_** _: Also, ugh! because I can’t talk now_

**_Jeyne_** _: I’m at brunch with my grandparents and nan is already giving me the stink eye for being on my phone! Will call when done. Please prepare an extremely detailed recap._

Sansa laughed and then opened Jon’s texts, taking a deep breath, suddenly nervous, as if he were the kind of person who would take it all back by text message the morning after.

**_Jon_** _: Good morning, gorgeous. Thank you again for the best birthday in the history of birthdays._

**_Jon_** _: I’ll knock on your door when I’m back from the airport with Sam._

Sansa bit her lip in a rather futile attempt at containing her grin. She liked his second message, but left it at that, knowing that he was going to try to finish a book for one of his classes on the train ride. Laying back down on her bed, she closed her eyes and thought back to the day before.

After their tour of Winterfell Castle, after their feelings were finally out in the open, after the first round of the best sex of her young life, after eating their fill of the food the staff had prepared following Jon’s sister’s strict instructions, they’d come back to their deserted dormitory and spent most of the rest of the night on her extra long twin bed getting fully acquainted with each other’s bodies but also talking, giggling and teasing and, at least as far as Sansa was concerned, feeling more simultaneously aroused and taken care of than she’d ever remembered feeling. They fell asleep tangled up together and at some point in the very early morning were woken by Jon’s alarm. In the moment, it felt very inconvenient to have the outside world invade their little bubble, but Sansa was also eager to get her first real look into Jon’s life back home. Talking with his sister had been fun but almost entirely focused on his birthday. There was also the sense, in both young women, that there were things being left unsaid. Sansa couldn’t very well blurt out, “We’ve never met, but I might be in love with your brother,” and whatever Jon might have felt about Sansa at that point that he’d been willing to confide in his sister about was obviously not something Rhaenys was going to talk about either.

So he left to go pick up his friend, and Sansa fell asleep again to thoughts of how loved she felt and when possibly she’d have a chance to orgasm that intensely again. Now awake, Sansa pondered the history that had led her to this point.

Before Jon, Sansa had been with four boys: Pod, Margaery’s brother Lloras, a dalliance during her first year at Winterfell University that was so brief it had barely registered as a relationship, and Harry. None of her memories of any of them came remotely close to how good it had been with Jon. Pod had been eager, if nothing else, and given that they were both virgins, their physical relationship developed over a mostly enjoyable process of trial and error. It hadn’t always been good, but it had been a safe first experience and one that taught Sansa to speak up for herself. Lloras was all macho bravado on the outside and sexual confusion on the inside and came to terms with the fact that maybe he just wasn’t into girls by their third time together. Waymar— _That had been his name, right?_ —had been too drunk to make the one time worth remembering.

And then there was Harry, both selfish and self-satisfied in bed and out. She’d felt strongly physically attracted to him at the start, the function of a crush made more intense by the amount of time she’d believed it was unrequited. She’d met him as a teenager, at an official function one year before university, and she’d found him cute and charming. A picture of them talking appeared in a tabloid the week after, and immediately, their “relationship” became the talk of the North. He’d sent her a cheeky message about it, and she let the good feeling from that one good conversation and the laugh they shared about having been paired up by the press build up in her mind in the months that followed. After he’d wormed his way onto First Pembroke, they remained in an arms-length flirtation during their first year, and Sansa started to realize that physical attraction was all it was. Beyond his good looks, he wasn’t a likable person and not a particularly kind one either. When they finally scratched the itch, that was precisely what it felt like: an annoyance that would go away if you gave it a moment’s distracted attention.

That Harry seemed to be a bigger part of her history than he actually was could be blamed on the odd fascination that the press had with them. Throughout their time in Winterfell, pictures would occasionally pop up of them in a group and “sources close to the couple” were constantly feeding the fictional monster they had created. Sansa had learned early on to ignore it all and had even come around to laughing at how in love the public seemed to be with Harry—or rather, the easily sellable superficial version of him that his own politically-motivated parents had enjoyed trotting out since his early childhood. He was perfect for her on paper. In reality, she couldn’t think of someone she was less interested in.

In Sansa’s mind, by contrast, Jon Snow was in the vicinity of perfect—hot _and_ cute, sure, but more to the point, he was thoughtful, sweet, funny and wonderfully intelligent. They had similar interests, and her position did not intimidate or worry him. She loved him before she’d so much as kissed him. Add in his clear talents in the bedroom and the boy was a walking, talking embarrassment of riches. She thought about how easily they’d declared their love for each other the night before, how certain she felt that she’d be willing to fight to be with him forever. But as she lingered on that thought now, different feelings bubbled up in her.

_Forever_.

Sansa suddenly pictured Jon standing before her parents and saw their skeptical faces looking at this foreign son of a working-class single mother in his jeans and black T-shirt. Margaery, Robb, even Theon came from old aristocratic families. They would all inherit titles—meaningless ones that only served to separate them from the “commoners.”

_Common_.

A silly and useless word so loaded with meaning that even the ever sensible Jeyne would bristle when Harry lobbed it in her direction.

No royal had ever married a commoner before. Sansa didn’t know how she knew that. But she did. She would laugh at the fact that the thought of marrying Jon got into her head less than 24 hours since hearing him say he loved her, as if she was already sure that was written in the cards for them, except she was afraid of what it meant, of how sure she felt even now that it was a truth that would confront her eventually.

No part of her wanted to let Jon go, but she knew with certainty that someday, someone in her life would tell that her she would have to and that she had no choice.

Pushing all thoughts of the future out of her mind for the time being, Sansa got out of bed, got her robe and toiletries and went into the bathroom to take a long hot shower. Jon’s friend was flying into Winter Town, and Jon had taken the train to the airport to meet him there. Since they wouldn’t be back until mid-afternoon, Sansa figured she would get a bit of studying done. After getting dressed, she walked to the Commons to get something to eat and then headed to the university library. Given that it was fall break, there were very few people around. She grabbed one of the tables in the study area on the first floor, which were normally always taken, and spread her stuff out. She’d been there barely fifteen minutes when her phone buzzed. In the quiet of the library, though muted, the sound echoed across the huge space and was easily heard at neighboring tables. Sansa scrambled to find it in the bottom of her bag.

It was Jeyne. Sansa would have laughed if she wasn’t already feeling self-conscious about the noise. She declined the call and sent a text to let her friend know she was at the library and would have to call her back later. Jeyne, however, had other ideas and started the buzzing again with a text reply that came almost immediately.

_**Jeyne** : How dare you!_

_**Jeyne** : Can’t you step outside for a minute?? Well, more than a minute! Ugh, WHY ARE YOU AT THE LIBRARY_

_**Sansa** : I have studying to do!_

_**Jeyne** : lol whatever_

Sansa knew Jeyne would just keep texting and considered turning her phone off completely, but she didn’t want to miss a text from Jon when he and Sam got back. She also did want to tell her best friend about her newly found love of her life. She looked around to see if the buzzing from the texts that followed Jeyne’s call had obviously bothered anyone and noticed a girl whose face looked familiar at the next table over. She’d been looking over at Sansa, and when their eyes met, she looked back down to her paper, blushing. Looking back at all her stuff and then her phone, which was buzzing with another text from Jeyne, Sansa stood and went over to the neighboring table. The girl looked up on seeing her approach and her eyes widened in nervous surprise.

“Hi,” Sansa said in a library-appropriate whisper. “It’s Gilly, right?”

She nodded.

“I’m Sansa.”

Gilly giggled. “I know.”

Sansa blushed. She hated introducing herself to people for this reason. They always already knew her even if they didn’t _know_ her, and they couldn’t get around wanting to point that out. “Right. Um, would you mind terribly doing me a favor. I need to talk to my friend for a second. Would you keep an eye on my stuff while I’m outside?”

“Of course,” Gilly answered. “Would you mind if I just moved to your table, though? I don’t have much and I’ve been here often enough to know that people will just sit down at an empty table even if there’s someone’s stuff on it.”

“Oh, that’s perfect. I wouldn’t have thought of that. Thank you!”

As Gilly picked up her notebook, the note cards she was making and her books, Sansa said, “How are you enjoying the year? You’re the other Mormont, right? I mean other than Jon. Jon Snow. I, um . . . I know him.”

Gilly nodded. “Yes, I am. Jon is sweet, though I’ve only wrangled maybe a hundred words out of him all term. Dr. Tarth said some Mormont scholars get competitive with each other, but he’s been a dream to do this with. I noticed that you two sit together at colloquium. How do you know him?”

“He was assigned to live in my dormitory.”

“That’s interesting. There was a mix up with both of our room assignments at the start of the year, but mine was sorted before I got on campus. I mentioned mine to him and he said he had the same issue, but didn’t say how it was resolved or that he got to live with royalty! But like I said, he doesn’t talk much . . . me on the other hand.” Gilly smiled bashfully, as if embarrassed by catching herself being so effusive, but Sansa smiled back. People sometimes would gush when they met her, but Gilly’s exuberance was clearly a natural part of her personality, and warm and heartfelt. Sansa liked her right away.

“Have you enjoyed your time at Winterfell?”

Gilly nodded. “I love it here. I go to Hardhomme, so the classes here are much more rigorous and I’m enjoying the challenge. The stipend also means I don’t have to work _and_ go to class, and I’m definitely enjoying that. Back home, if you’d asked me what I did in my leisure time, I’d have said, ‘Leisure time, what’s that?’ I should admit that’s why this year’s been so enjoyable. _Choosing_ what I get to do. Normally, I don’t have the money for that. But what am I going on and on for? Go ahead and go make your call. I’ll be right here.”

Sansa smiled. “Thank you so much.”

After making her way outside and dialing Jeyne, Sansa laughed at her friend’s greeting: “Finally! I need literally every detail now!”

“I hate to disappoint, but you’re not getting _every_ detail.”

“So how did it happen? You said you were taking him on a tour of the castle, did you start with the bedrooms?!”

Sansa laughed. “We went to the chancellor’s office first so he could see the First Queen’s portrait there, then we had lunch at Old Nan’s, then we did actually take a tour of the castle. I’d asked the steward to have the copy of the wolf tiara out, so we saw that and the hall of portraits. Then—“

“Is the X-rated portion of the date happening any time soon?”

“Excuse me, didn’t you just say you wanted literally every detail now or was I hearing things,” Sansa said with a laugh, “because I’m giving you details!"

“OK, OK. I just want to get to the good stuff!”

Sansa sighed. “We walked outside for a while, so when dinner time came around, we came back into the formal dining room. I didn’t mention this, but I had reached out to his sister, who’s the chef—I think you know he mentioned that at one point. Anyway, I asked her if she wouldn’t mind sharing recipes of his favorite dishes with the kitchen staff at the castle. She did and we talked a couple of times to coordinate. It was meant to be a surprise, so she didn’t tell him. In the end, they made a veritable feast.”

“Mother, maiden, crone.”

“I know,” she said sheepishly. “Perhaps it was a bit much, but he did like it.”

“I don’t mean to make you self-conscious, but with that kind of gesture, I’m not surprised the night progressed the way it did.”

“It was his birthday, though. I wasn’t _just_ trying to seduce him. ”

“Clearly.”

Something about Jeyne’s tone made Sansa nervous. “Are you being sarcastic?”

“No, San,” Jeyne said. “I knew you liked him. I didn’t realize quite how much. So he appreciated the gesture, then?"

“Yes, very much. We, um . . . We didn’t end up eating until after . . . you know.”

Jeyne laughed again. “Yes! These are the details I want. And you said it was good?”

“I don’t think I understood the extent to which previous experiences were all very average.”

“Well . . . you also weren’t in love during previous experiences,” Jeyne offered gently. “I’m sure that made a big difference. That’s how you feel, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Sansa said with a sigh. “That’s it, exactly. I hadn’t even processed it in quite that way—how loving the person would make sex better—but yes.”

“Wow.”

Both of them were quiet for a long moment.

“So . . . I assume it’s happening again? Where is he now?”

“Yes. _Yes_.”

The emphatic way Sansa responded made Jayne giggle.

“He went to get his friend who’s visiting for the weekend at the airport in Winter Town. He’ll be here until Sunday.”

“Oh, no!”

It was Sansa’s turn to laugh. “I know, not ideal timing to have the corridor to ourselves and have someone else show up, but Jon was excited to see him. And honestly, even though we didn’t expressly talk about it, I know it isn’t just a one-off. I can be patient.”

“Can you, though?”

“Excuse me, I am a _very_ patient person.”

Jeyne laughed. “This weekend will tell us, won’t it?”

“Well, now you’re all caught up, so I need to go back inside.”

“OK, I’ll see you Sunday.”

Sansa took a deep breath, feeling nervous again. “Wait, Jeyne?”

“Yes?”

“What do you think my parents would think of Jon?”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you think they would approve of him?”

“Oh, San.”

“What’s your gut feeling?”

Sansa closed her eyes as she heard Jeyne let out a long sigh on the other end of the line.

“That doesn’t sound good,” Sansa said.

“He doesn’t live here, Sansa. Do you even need to worry about your parents?”

“No, I suppose not when I have the fact he’ll leave at the end of the year to worry about now.”

“I wasn’t trying to give you something else to worry about.”

“But it’s true. The fact they wouldn’t approve won’t matter when he’s back in Westeros.”

“He’s here now. Enjoy it and don’t think about the future.”

“Sure,” Sansa said in defeat.

“Just let yourself have this while you can. You sounded really happy just now. Hang on to that.”

“OK, I’ll see you Sunday.”

“And we’ll have his birthday do Sunday night!”

“Yes, we’ll do that.”

“Text if you need me?”

Sansa smiled. “Always.”

After hanging up, Sansa sighed. Jeyne was being perfectly logical. Why should Sansa worry about battles that might never have to be fought? Why was she so eager to fight them?

Back inside the library, Sansa sat back down with Gilly, who immediately started picking her things back up.

“Oh, you can stay,” Sansa said. “No sense in moving again unless you want to or need the extra space.” Looking at Gilly’s stacks of notecards, she added, “I don’t want to mess up your system.”

Gilly laughed. “I go a bit overboard, but organizing is my thing.”

“I wish that were the case for me.”

“If you want to look at my notes for colloquium lectures, I’m happy to share. I’ve figured out Dr. Tarth’s rhythm, but Dr. Lannister is a bit harder to follow.”

“I’ve had him before, and strict notes aren’t essential,” Sansa said. “His study guides for the final are great. He wants students to pay attention during lecture, not get caught up in the tangents he always goes off on.”

“Good to know,” Gilly said. “I hope you don’t mind me saying, but I love that you’re a student of history, and that you wanted to go to uni. Getting to go was such a fight with my dad, but then his idea of a perfect daughter is one who serves her father hand and foot in his old age, and nobody needs university for that.” She rolled her eyes and made a sound of disgust that made Sansa feel something of a kinship with her.

“What do you want to do with your history degree?” Sansa asked.

“Originally, I was planning on becoming a lawyer, not what I’d choose if the sky was the limit, but something useful and lucrative so I could support myself and not have to worry about dad. Being here, though, getting to study the things that actually interest me is totally spoiling me. The prospect of law school and a life counting billable hours seems a lot more grim than it used to.”

“What would you do if the sky _was_ the limit?” Sansa asked, curious.

Gilly put her chin on her hand and thought for a moment. “If someone just gave me a massive a pile of money to do whatever I wanted . . . I guess I’d like to think that I’d do something useful with it, make a career out of giving it away or helping people like abuse survivors or women without the resources to get their start in life. What about you?”

The question surprised Sansa. “Me?”

Gilly nodded. “If you could pick anything to do with your life, what would you do?”

Sansa thought for a moment. “I want to write a book. I’m hoping that in spite of what’s expected of me, it doesn’t turn out to be just a pipe dream, but that’s what it feels like sometimes. I suppose if I could hole myself up in a cabin in really remote country and read and write on my own schedule, that might be my ideal life. Not entirely alone, necessarily, just . . .”

“Not in the spotlight?” Gilly asked quietly.

Sansa bit her lip and nodded. “Your idea is really good, though, and not entirely unlike the life I’ll lead when all is said and done. There’s a lot of waving from balconies and standing smiling next to tiny commemorative plaques, but amid all that, there is plenty of good to be done. I need to keep reminding myself of that because the rest of it can feel a bit routine.”

“Well, if you ever need help, you can call me,” Gilly said. “You already know I’d be very organized,” she added pointing at her note cards.

Sansa laughed. She knew Gilly was joking, but Sansa meant it when she replied with, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

The girls went back to their books and stayed at it for a few hours, chatting here and there as the mood struck and their attention spans wandered. It was a little after four o’clock when Sansa decided to pack it in and go back to Pembroke to wait for Jon. Gilly decided to be done as well, and the two of them headed out on the same path. They were almost at Pembroke, at the point where Gilly would have made a turn toward her own dormitory, when Sansa spotted Jon. Another young man with him was pulling a small suitcase. He had dark hair and a beard, a round face with friendly eyes that looked a bit tired, likely from the journey.

Jon smiled immediately on seeing Sansa, but turned in surprise when his eyes landed on Gilly.

“Hi, you!” Gilly said. “You didn’t mention you’d be here over break.”

Jon shrugged. “Not long enough to make the travel worth it. Oh, and my friend offered to visit. Sansa, Gilly, this is Samwell Tarly. Sam, this is the other student who won the scholarship I got, and, um, Sansa’s . . .”

“A hallmate,” she said, playfully knocking Jon’s shoulder with hers, which caused him to chuckle in that cute way she loved.

“Right,” Sam responded, with wide-eyed nerves on full display. “I, uh . . . wow. It’s nice to meet you—just, wow. I’ve never met a famous person before.”

“I get that all the time,” Gilly said, not missing a beat, “but it’s OK, us celebrities, we’re just like everyone else.”’

As Jon and Sansa laughed, Sam turned to look at Gilly for the first time, his eyes having been drawn to Sansa’s recognizable face at first, and he blushed furiously. She smiled brightly, apparently endeared by this. “I’m Gilly,” she said, holding her hand out.

“Sam,” he answered. Then, realizing he hadn’t shaken Sansa’s hand, he said, “Oh, Gods! I’m sorry, your highness.”

Sansa shook his hand. “Just Sansa, please. I hope you had a good trip.”

“I did. It was tiring, though. At least that’ll be my excuse for my total lack of poise.”

“He’s actually like that all the time,” Jon joked.

Both Sansa and Gilly laughed, and Sam did as well, releasing a bit of his nervous energy. “That’s probably true,” he said.

“We were thinking that after dropping Sam’s bag in my room, we’d go for an early dinner, then just hang out in the lounge,” Jon said, looking at Sansa. “Do you want to join us?”

“It’s all I have the energy for, and also Jon and I together are really rather lame and not terribly exciting people to be around.”

The girls laughed again. “That sounds perfect,” Sansa replied.

“I’ll just be on my way,” Gilly said, “It was great talking, Sansa.”

“No, wait,” Sansa said. “Why don’t you join us? You two don’t mind, do you?”

“Not at all,” Sam said quickly. “I’d love it.”

Gilly looked at all three of them. “Sure, why not.”

They walked the rest of the way to Pembroke so Sam could drop off his suitcase. While Gilly waited in the lobby, Sansa followed Jon and Sam down the hall toward her and Jon’s rooms. The boys turned into Jon’s, and Sansa went into hers to drop off her books. When she came back out, they were walking back toward the lobby.

She called out from her doorway. “Jon, can I talk to you for a second?”

Jon turned to Sam. “Just wait with Gilly in the lobby. We’ll be right there.”

Sam nodded. When he was through the door to the lobby, Jon turned back to Sansa with a sweet smile. “Yes?”

She beckoned him toward her with her finger. “Come here!” she said in a low voice.

Once he was within arm’s length, she grabbed the collar of his jacket and pulled him into her room, letting the door close behind him as they melted into a deep kiss. When they pulled away, breathless, they whispered said, “Hi,” at the same time.

Jon tucked a strand of hair gently behind her ear. “I’ve been wondering all day if yesterday was just a very vivid daydream, so thank you for setting me straight.”

Sansa grinned in response, but it faded when the worries that had begun to build up over the course of the day came back to her. “We should talk about . . . things. I know there’s no time now and as much as I wish I could just go with the flow, my life doesn’t really lend itself to that.”

“Well, I don’t have any expectations. I meant what I said last night but, we can do whatever you want. I don’t want to be someone who complicates your life.”

She let out a long breath and smiled. Of course, he would make this easy. “I want a relationship.”

Jon blinked in surprise. “Really?”

She giggled at how his cheeks blushed slightly. “I also meant what I said last night, but only if that’s what you want too.”

“Yes. Very much. One hundred percent, absolutely.” Cradling her face in his hands he pulled her into another kiss that both of them laughed through so it just became a series of sloppy pecks and a fit of happy laughter for both of them. Jon wrapped his arms around her again and hugged her so tightly, he lifted her slightly off the ground. When she came back down, she kept her arm wrapped around his neck and brought her other hand down to his chest.

“So, ready to go?” he asked.

“Actually, there’s something else.” Looking down, she said, “There’s an extent to which the public and the press will always think my life belongs to them. I can’t do anything about that, much as I don’t like it.”

“OK?”

“The press promised to mostly leave me alone while I was here, but every so often a picture will pop up that someone took on their phone. I’m used to it, and like I said, it’s just part of my life, but for you . . . if the press got a hold of your name, they’d turn your life upside down and feel no compunction about doing so. Your sister’s restaurant, your mother’s work—they would camp out there hoping to get a rise out of them and an embarrassing photo. They’re not allowed on campus, but they’d pay a student to follow you around or something. People have chosen not to be friends with me to avoid that scrutiny, and I don’t blame them.”

“So we keep it a secret. I don’t mind. Honestly.”

“Not secret, _private_. Anyway, Jeyne already knows,” she said with a blush. “Margaery will take one look at us and guess immediately. But no holding hands or public displays or anything like that.”

“I hate PDA.”

“And, um, this is maybe the weirdest part, but if someone asks me if I have a boyfriend or something similar, I have to say no. If someone gets wind of it for some reason and asks about you specifically, I have to deny it. That’s the only way to make sure no one will bother you about it. My parents have press agents, and if asked they’ll deny you so much as exist in an extremely off-putting and condescending statement. I hate that it has to be like that, but my life is what it is. Never complain. Never explain.”

Jon leaned in and gave her a slow lingering kiss. “Worth it.” Looking into her eyes, he blinked and asked, “Can I tell Sam? I trust him with my life and also, we’ve now been in here long enough that he’s going to be suspicious and I was rather effusive in talking about you on the way here. He might ask if there’s something between us and you may as well know that I’m a terrible liar.”

Grinning she said, “We _have_ to tell Sam because you’re sleeping in my room tonight.”

“Are you going to be able to keep it down?”

“That sounds like a challenge.”

Jon picked her up and spun her around again. She would never tire of him doing that.

When they finally made it back to the lobby, both expected Gilly and Sam to be standing around waiting silently and awkwardly, having met only minutes before. Instead, however, they were on the sofa talking excitedly in a way that both surprised and delighted Jon.

Dinner was a blast, and though none of the foursome knew it at the time, it would be the first of countless dinners they would spend together over the course of their lifetimes.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nearing the end of Jon's year at Winterfell, he meets Princess Arya and makes a decision that changes his and Sansa's future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for the patience with this story. Inspiration has been steadier of late, but writing time is still so rare for me that getting these chapters out on multiple WIPs is still frustratingly slow.
> 
> I've added a chapter total, having the rest of this outlined. It may turn out to be one or two more, but in any case, the end is nearish.
> 
> Again no flashback or flash forward with this one, but we're jumping ahead in time a bit and will again at each point now going forward. The novel on which this fic is inspired similarly, moves through the meeting at college to the wedding, with time jumps after big points in the evolution of the relationship. I've skipped over a few key things but couldn't skip Jon and Arya meeting, so that's the big event here. The friend group will all be together in the next chapter for anyone is missing that element. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

**Jon, age 21, Five months later**

The flakes were small, but looking out the window, Jon could just make them out in the fading light of the setting sun. It was the first week in April, and the days were finally feeling like real days again, with the sun lingering past the late afternoon in a way it hadn’t in months. He had made it through the long Northern winter, so Jon wasn’t terribly pleased with this last (surely!) gasp of wintry weather.

Back in December, when the novelty of experiencing real bone-chilling cold for the first time matched the novelty of his burgeoning relationship with a real honest-to-the-gods princess of the North, snow seemed downright romantic. On the night of the season’s first blizzard, Sansa pulled Jon out of bed and out of Pembroke Hall in the wee hours—after the fat, wet flakes had been falling for hours, accumulating on every flat surface—so she could take a picture of him making a snow angel, making it worth his while by warming him up quite nicely when they were back inside her room. On that night, he thought, _Let it be a long winter_. Perhaps this was winter getting the last laugh.

As the first semester shifted into the second, Jon and Sansa had settled into a comfortable, comforting routine—at least as much as one could when you couldn’t behave like a couple with other people around. He remained as in love with her as ever now, but winter he was happy to see go.

“You look like you’re very angry at the window.”

Jon turned back to the empty classroom where he and Gilly were reviewing each other’s final presentations. Their projects were due in one week, a 50-plus page thesis and accompanying slide show done in front of as many people as could cram themselves into the history lecture hall. (Among them would be his sister Rhaenys, who had finally found time to visit.) Gilly would present hers first on Wednesday afternoon. Jon would follow on Thursday, one week from today. They had been practicing together every evening since Sunday. Still, neither felt ready.

Gilly was in the process of plugging her laptop into the projector when she’d spoken.

“I _am_ angry,” Jon replied. “I thought winter was over. How can it snow in April?”

“Where I’m from, in the mountains, we get the occasional June flurry,” she said, with a laugh. “Welcome to the North.”

Walking over to sit back down as Gilly pulled up her presentation, Jon said, “You know, those old wives’ tales from before the first queen’s reign about winter lasting years and years all seem surprisingly plausible now. It certain _feels_ like it’s been years."

“It’s only your first winter. You’ll toughen up after a few more.” Gilly stopped short. “Err—I suppose you won’t since you’ll be going back home to Dragonstone.”

“Yeah,” Jon said distractedly, not eager to think about the fact he had only one month left at Winterfell, not sure what he was meant to do about the fact that he was in a relationship he didn’t want to ever end. The end of the year had been in the back of his mind for a while now, but he’d been too deliriously happy to let himself dwell on it. More and more, though, there seemed to be no avoiding it.

Jon’s phone buzzed in his pocket, he took it out and smiled on seeing it was Sansa, as if he had conjured her by his thoughts.

“We’re halfway done,” he said in greeting, knowing that she was waiting for him for dinner and an outing she had planned for them to the campus art gallery.

“I imagine both you and Gilly as the type of person who is consumed by stress before a test, swears you’ll fail and then earns the highest grade in the class.”

Jon chuckled. “What are you trying to say?”

“I’m trying to say I’m hungry, and you’ll both be brilliant next week, so take a break and come have dinner with your girlfriend!” Jon felt himself blush. He still found it terribly delightful and pleasing when she called herself that. There was a sweet normalcy to it they both liked. It was also a signal to him that she was in her room alone—another reason to hurry. She’d not have used the word otherwise. “Oh, and I have a surprise for you!”

“You do?”

“Yes! So finish up!”

He looked up and caught Gilly looking at him with a knowing smile. “Who’s that?”

“Um, it’s Sansa. She says we’re over-preparing.”

Her face got serious in an instant. “Tell her there is no such thing as over-preparation, and if there is, my face will appear next to the word in the dictionary.”

Jon repeated the words to Sansa, who laughed loudly into his ear. They said their goodbyes after Jon’s assurances that he would be no more than another hour at the most.

He felt Gilly’s eyes on him as he slid the phone back into his jeans pocket. Jon was, generally speaking, a reserved, stoic person, described by superficial acquaintances as having only two facial expressions: sad and angry. But among those who knew him well and loved him well, Jon often felt like an open book, not because he was more demonstrative around them, but because he was unfailingly honest.

He and Sansa hadn’t explicitly talked about the fact they were a couple with anyone at Winterfell. His mother and sister knew, and he knew that Sansa had told her sister as well. If Sansa had told her parents yet, she hadn’t mentioned it to Jon. He hadn’t asked and would never presume to do so. As Sansa had said they would, First Pembroke all sort of figured it out, including Harry, who would laugh and roll his eyes whenever he saw them together. Jon would frown and look over at Sansa whenever that happened. He would smile again on seeing that she hadn’t even noticed Harry. But other than the occasional colorful comment from Margaery, who spoke in double entendres as a matter of course, things hadn’t changed significantly among their friends. Both were careful not to behave as anything other than friends around other people, but they more than made up for it when they were alone alone. Jon felt like he was in a waking dream, sweater than anything he could have possibly imagined.

“So tell the truth,” Gilly said in a way that made Jon immediately nervous. “Have you kissed her?”

“What?” he replied in a strained squeak the he thought immediately gave the game away.

“You seem very close and . . .” she shrugged. “A princess surely feeling trapped by her boring life meets a dark, handsome stranger from a foreign land. You only live once. Shoot your shot. Pick the cliché.”

“That’s a bit farfetched, don’t think you? Me and the princess?”

Her eyes narrowed. “I can’t decide if you really are this clueless or if you’re trying to throw me off the scent.”

He couldn’t help but laugh and felt a bit of relief when she laughed with him.

“I’m just going to pretend it’s true. I find the idea of a royal falling for a commoner very romantic. The king has no sons, so alas it can’t be me. It may as well be my friend.”

Jon smiled widely, seeing an opening to change the subject. “Speaking of romantic, how’s Sam?”

Gilly looked away, biting her lip to keep from smiling.

“He texts you more than he does me now, you know.”

“We don’t really text—I mean not like _that_. Mostly, we play online Scrabble together or race each other doing crosswords, which makes us sound like a pair of sad weirdos, but . . . he’s sweet.”

“Well, he’s totally smitten with you. I don’t mind giving that away because I can only assume it’s more than obvious to you.”

Gilly laughed again. “He’s so nice. That seems like a very low bar to set, but you’d be surprised at the number of boys who fail to clear it.”

“I get it. Sam is, in fact, much nicer than most people.”

“I like him—I do. Maybe if he didn’t live so far away.”

_So far away_. There it was again. Jon sighed. “Yeah.”

Gilly took a deep breath. “OK, ready for this? I’ve updated the introduction.”

“You should go for it,” Jon said.

“I am—wait, you’re talking about Sam.”

“I am, and I mean it. If you like him, say so. I’ve no doubt he’d come visit again if you asked.”

“You’re breaking my concentration here,” she said with a smile.

“Sorry,” Jon replied, meekly.

“You should take your own advice. You don’t even have to travel to do it.”

“I don’t want the king to have me beheaded or anything.” That was certainly true.

“History does not suggest Starks are quite that ruthless, but I suppose there is always the risk.”

Jon laughed at her matter-of-fact response.

“Much as I’ve loved it,” Gilly said, “being here this year has left me with as many questions about my life and career as it’s answered. If I were to bring a potential romance into it at this point, I might lose my mind. I will take your suggestion under advisement, though. You should do the same. If nothing else, it would be a good story to tell.”

“Sure,” Jon said, knowing that the story was not was he was after.

“It’s funny. We keep being told Mormont Scholars are an ambitious lot, but you and I seem to disprove that theory."

“It’s all fun and games until you have to prove you really learned something.”

As Gilly launched into her presentation, Jon thought about how far from what he’d expected his year of study away had turned out. He had thought it would be a solitary year, that he’d drown himself his in studies and enjoy it only because it was his choice, an indulgence unlike any he’d been allowed previously. He also thought it might point him in a direction, professionally speaking.

And then he’d walked into the Pembroke Hall lobby for the first time. He’d heard her voice before he saw the pretty eyes, the messy hair, the hopeful expression of a person eager to be understood. He hadn’t stood a chance.

Winterfell _had_ changed his life, just not in the way he’d planned.

* * *

Jon expected to find Sansa in his room when he got back to Pembroke, which was quiet, with most of its residents having gone out to look for dinner or a party or both.

At first, Jon and Sansa had continued to treat their rooms as separate, but as the year and their relationship went on, they’d dispensed with knocking and turned them into shared spaces. Kissing and everything else was still only ever done in Sansa’s room since Theon and Robb had not allowed what they knew was happening between Jon and Sansa to stop them from continuing to treat Jon’s room as their own. Even so, it was not uncommon for Jon to come back from a class and find Sansa lounging on his bed with a book or at his desk doing her studying or sketching for the print design class she’d started taking the spring semester. That weekend some of the work she’d done would be part of a student show at the campus gallery. After dinner, Sansa had planned to take him over so he could see it ahead of time without anyone else there.

Finding his room empty, however, Jon dropped his bag and went back across the hall. Before he opened the door, he heard voices he didn’t recognize. Opting for prudence, he knocked, but it wasn’t Sansa who opened the door. The girl who did was quite a bit shorter, with dark hair cut bluntly to her chin, a skeptical look in the big inquisitive eyes that immediately started looking him up and down.

“You are not at all what I expected.”

Jon felt both nervous and amused. “Princess Arya.”

“You’ve fucked my sister. I think we can dispense with the titles.”

Shocked at her words, Jon stood stock-still at the door. 

There was loud laughter behind her. “Seven hells, Arya, let him at least come in before you start torturing him.”

A tall, brawny but friendly looking guy with a military cut came up to open the door the rest of the way and motioned for Jon to come in. “I’m Gendry, and yes, this mannerless brute is second in line for the throne. Jon, right?”

“Yes,” he exhaled, shaking Gendry’s proffered hand. “Jon Snow. It’s nice to meet you both.”

As he walked all the way into the room, the door closing behind him, Jon saw that Sansa wasn’t actually there.

“You just missed her,” Arya said. “There was a labeling mix-up with her pieces at the gallery apparently, so she ran out to get it sorted. She said for the three of us to get dinner, and she’ll phone when she’s done.”

“Couldn’t we go help?” Jon asked, pulling out his phone to text Sansa. “I could have just met you there.”

Arya rolled her eyes. “You’d think, but she insists that she only wants us to see everything when it’s ready.”

Jon laughed, already somewhat familiar with Sansa’s perfectionism streak. “And she was criticizing _me_ for spending too much time of my work just now.”

“Right?!” Arya responded in quick agreement. “Welcome to life with Sansa Stark.”

Smiling, Jon tapped out a message on his phone.

_I’m back. What’s the surprise? Getting to entertain your sister?_

“So where are we going?” Gendry asked. “I’m famished.”

Looking up, Jon saw that Gendry and Arya were both looking at him expectantly.

“We’re not picky,” Arya said, hands on hips. “You decide.”

There was a smirk on her face and Jon saw immediately that this was a test.

She and Gendry were both dressed casually, he in jeans and a long-sleeved shirt bearing the logo of a team he didn’t recognize, she in navy track pants with a white stripe down the side that made them look like formal military trousers and a T-shirt that said “Black Basic” in plain lettering. Jon knew from Sansa that this was a reference to what first-year cadets were called at Castle Black. He also knew that Arya loved it there. Sansa spoke of her sister often and fondly, but was quick to point out all the ways in which they were different, at least some of which were apparent to Jon now.

He was about to speak again when he felt his phone buzz in his hand. Sansa had responded to his text. In fact, several came in one right after the other.

_Sorry I didn’t get a chance to call. Not quite how I planned it but, yes! Surprise!_

_Since I’ll meet Rhae when she’s here next week, I thought it only fair._

_(OK, leaving you alone with Arya and her boyfriend isn’t exactly “fair” but they’ll love you and you’ll love them. I know it.)_

“This is Sansa,” Jon said, holding up his phone. “Give me a second.”

**_Jon_ ** _: Important question: Is it over between us if they don’t?_

**_Sansa_ ** _: Haha. Not possible._

**_Jon_ ** _: I’m serious. where should I take them for dinner?_

Jon watched as the dots suggesting she was typing popped up, went away and then popped up again several times. He glanced over to Arya and Gendry. He had sat down on Sansa’s bed and was staring absently in the direction of the window while Arya was on his lap, her back to him, looking down at her phone. Theirs was the rapport of people who had been together for years and for whom sharing personal space was second nature. Jon thought how Sansa was too self-possessed to ever be this casual among anyone, let alone people she’d just met. But immediately he realized that when she’d called him earlier and referred to herself as his girlfriend, she’d done so with Arya and Gendry in the room. Even though Arya had just met him, she knew quite a bit about him already. More to the point, she had full knowledge of who Jon was in Sansa’s life and was the only person Sansa had told without equivocation. Arya had made that much abundantly and colorfully clear the moment he’d walked in.

He wondered what kind of impression he was making, whether that mattered in the grand scheme of things. But surely it did, right? Why introduce the person you were with to the person you trusted most if you didn’t see a future with them? Sansa wouldn’t be introducing him to Arya if he wasn’t important to her. Sansa wouldn’t have left him alone with Arya and Gendry if she didn’t trust him.

There was still no text from her, though. With a deep breath Jon typed one more message.

_Sorry I’m being weird. Don’t worry about us. Just let me know when you’re done._

Just as he’d sent his, a text finally popped up.

_You’ll be fine. You don’t need to try to impress my sister._

Jon’s shoulders drooped slightly. “I’m going to step out for a minute,” he said and did so before Arya and Gendry had a chance to say anything in response. Leaning against the wall next to Sansa’s door, he saw Jeyne come in from the lobby.

“Hi, what are you doing?” Jeyne asked with a bemused smile.

“Texting Sansa, who had to go out to take care of something. Her sister and her boyfriend are here.” Jon motioned to Sansa’s room and Jeyne chuckled.

“So this is you being scared of Arya?”

“No! . . . Well, a little.”

“For as tiny as she is, she can be surprisingly intimidating, but don’t take it personally, she's hated all of Sansa’s boyfriends. It’s a reflex, I think.”

Jon frowned. “Do you want to come hang out with us?”

Jeyne laughed. “Normally, watching anyone trying to win her over would be top-notch entertainment, but I . . . have a date as a matter of fact.”

“Oh! Well, good luck, then.”

“You’re not going to ask me who it’s with?”

“I assume I don’t know the person.”

Just then Theon stepped into the hallway from the lobby. “Jeyne, half an hour?”

“Sure.”

“Might want to wear boots. It’s starting to come down out there. ‘Sup, Snow.”

With that Theon went into his room, and Jeyne turned back around to face a surprised and amused Jon. “ _Really_ good luck, then.”

“I know,” Jeyne said shaking her head and rolling her eyes. “It may well be a horrible mistake, but it was one I was destined to make.”

“Theon warned me against the perils of dating within this friend group at the start of the year, so I think it was one he was destined to make as well.”

Jeyne held up her fist. “Good luck to us both.”

Smiling, Jon bumped hers with his. After Jeyne had done into her room, Jon looked at Sansa’s last text again. 

_You’ll be fine. You don’t need to try to impress my sister._

He typed out a reply.

**_Jon_ ** _: Mission accomplished. She said I was not what she expected._

**_Sansa_ ** _: No time explain years of Arya at the moment, but that’s a compliment from her._

**_Jon_ ** _: So I shouldn’t worry?_

**_Sansa_ ** _: I’m not saying I don’t care what she thinks of you—i do. If there is anyone in my family whose opinion of you matters, it’s Arya._

**_Jon_ ** _: You’re telling me that now???_

**_Sansa_ ** _: I know. I’m sorry_

**_Jon_ ** _:_ 😒

**_Sansa_ ** _: Don’t worry about trying to impress her. Nothing impresses her._

**_Sansa_ ** _: Just be your amazing yourself. Trust me. I’ll be an hour at most._

**_Jon_ ** _: Interesting turnabout from an hour ago_

**_Sansa_ ** _: Ha!_

**_Sansa_ ** _: Also remember that I love you!_

**_Jon_ ** _: yeah yeah yeah_

**_Jon_ ** _: Call when you’re done_

**_Jon_ ** _: I love you too_

**_Sansa_ ** _:_ ❤️

Jon put his phone away and rubbed his face with his hands. He’d have laughed at being told not to try impress someone whose opinion of him was deeply important, but it was not as if he had any other choice. If Sansa had been anyone else, he could smooth out his rougher edges, embellish here and there to make a good impression, and none would be the wiser. But Sansa was Sansa. There were secret service agents in her father’s employ. Her best friend had done a bloody background check on him. If the relationship was meant to go beyond the next four weeks, every ugly truth about him would eventually be known. Being himself was all he had.

Startling him out of his thoughts, Arya opened the door and stuck her head out into the hallway.

“We’re hungry, so we need to make some progress on the food situation.”

Scratching his head, he said, “How does pizza sound? I don’t have the energy for a restaurant right now, and I know where Robb has a couple of six-packs hidden in his room.”

“Is Robb here? I thought he was going home for the weekend.”

“Oh, he’s gone, but he owes me.”

Having come all the way out of the room, Arya leaned her head back in to yell at Gendry. “Oy! We’re going to steal Robb’s beer and order pizza.”

“Excellent.”

Looking at him again with narrowed eyes, Arya said, “Did Sansa tell you pizza and beer is what we’d want?”

“No. She just said to be myself, and it’s what I want.”

She smiled an infectious grin that took over her whole face. “You’re so not what I expected to the point that you’re the exact opposite of what I expected.”

“Can I ask what you mean by that?”

“Sure,” she said with a shrug. “I just mean you’re OK.”

Jon smiled. “Just OK?”

From inside Sansa’s room Gendry yelled, “It’s as nice as she’s going to get, mate. Take the win.”

* * *

Sorting out the gallery display took Sansa two hours, not just one, by which time it was nearly nine o’clock. Jon, Gendry and Arya had eaten their pizza and drunk not only Robb’s beer but broken into Margaery’s room to go through her high-end liquor as well—a fact about which she was less than pleased when she returned from dinner.

“I know Arya is a belligerent drunk, but I expected more from you, Jon Snow.”

“It’s snowing in fucking April!” was his retort. “Isn’t the point of Northern whisky to keep you warm?”

Margaery smirked. “No, that’s the point of sex, darling. I know you don’t need help in that department.”

“San’s dealing with a gallery crisis,” Arya said without missing a beat. “Just take a shot with us and get over it.”

Margaery did and then shooed everyone out of her room because she had plans. But she did let Jon keep the bottle.

Once back in Sansa’s room, Arya took matters into her own hands and called her sister. Jon only heard Arya’s end of the conversation, but from the sound of it Sansa was done and already on her way back. Only ten minutes later, in fact, Sansa walked in as Arya was doing an impression of Gendry’s father, a man twice her height and three times her width according to Gendry. Whether it was a faithful imitation, Jon couldn’t say but it was hysterical. He was still laughing when saw that Sansa had come in. He moved to stand quickly but suddenly it was as if the whisky hit him all at once. He stumbled for a moment but righted himself only to see that Sansa was laughing at him.

“Aren’t we meant to go see you artwork?” he asked, wanting very much to kiss her, touch her.

“You three at an art gallery was going to be challenging enough with you sober. We can leave it for tomorrow. I’m sure if I call in the morning they’ll let us in.” Turning to Arya, she said, “Arya, did they make up a room for Gendry at the castle?”

Arya laughed. “You know they did. I don’t even bother messing up the bed in the morning anymore, though. Why?”

“I was thinking we’d just go over there. We can take that room. That is if you want to, Jon.”

_YES!_

“Sure.”

“You don’t have to look sad about it,” Arya said.

“That’s just his face,” Sansa said, playfully squeezing one of his cheeks.

Their eyes locked for a moment and with a grin, she leaned over and kissed him on the lips. It was quick but sweet. Her hand slid into his. “Come on, I’ll help you pack an overnight bag.”

“If it takes you more than five minutes, we’ll know you’re doing it.”

“Ugh, Arya.”

“Well, go, so we can get a move on. I’m hungry again.”

Once she had pulled him into his room, Sansa said, “The two of them are always hungry. I think it’s the secret to their longterm happiness.”

Jon pulled her into his arms. “I really like them.”

Sansa grinned and pulled away slightly to pull her phone out of her purse. After unlocking it and a couple of taps she held it up for Jon to see her text thread with Arya. Among the most recent messages Arya had sent:

C _an’t believe I’m saying this about someone you’re seeing, but we like Jon and would like to keep him._

Jon felt his cheeks, already flushed from the alcohol, warm on reading the words.

“And you were worried,” she said when he met her eyes again.

“In my defense, my father issues have set me on a never-ending search for validation and acceptance,” he replied earnestly.

She giggled and Jon felt it against his chest. Having her so close was sharpening his senses again. She grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him in for another kiss.

After a long moment, Sansa stepped away. “Let’s get your stuff. Arya is the most impatient person in the world.”

A half-hour later, the foursome was in one of the castle’s drawing rooms, where the staff had brought a spread of cheese and cold cuts. The effects of the whisky were starting to wear off and Jon felt light and happy merely from the company. At one point, Gendry coaxed him toward the billiards table at the end of the room, which Jon realized was mostly a ruse (Gendry was clueless with the cue stick) to give the sisters some time to talk, but it gave them a chance to get to know one another as well.

Jon learned that Gendry’s father was a lifelong friend of the king and that Gendry intended to follow his footsteps into the ranks of career military officers, like Arya herself hoped to do. His mother had died when he was young, but unlike Jon, his relationship with his half siblings and the blended family of which he was a part, was not so harmonious a unit as he, Rhae and Lyanna had managed to grow into. Cersei Baratheon was ambitious and cruel and sought to present an image of a perfect family that Gendry found by turns stifling or entirely excluded from. It was the isolation Gendry felt from his father’s wife and her children that Arya’s friendship had offered solace from when they were younger. Jon wondered how such a woman now felt about Gendry being the favorite of the kingdom’s younger princess.

He knew from Sansa that Arya had no patience for the traditions and decorum by which she had been raised (a difference between the sisters) but she protected those she loved fiercely (a commonality) so it seemed inevitable that she and Gendry would eventually gravitate toward each other. In Gendry, Arya had someone who was no more interested in pleasing those around him than she was and who was thoroughly devoted to letting her be exactly who she wanted to be. In Arya, Gendry had someone who loved with no pretense or expectation. By the end of the night, Jon considered both Arya and Gendry good friends, and he thought it funny how many good friends he’d amassed in his time North—more than he thought he’d made in all his years in Dragonstone. When he left, he wouldn’t just be leaving a girl he loved. It was starting to feel like he was leaving behind a whole life. And he was starting to wonder what exactly was waiting for him when he returned home.

Just after midnight, everyone finally went to bed. Jon would have stayed up longer but was reminded by Sansa that their bed for the night would not be the lumpy dormitory-sized twin be they had grown used to sharing. This was, in fact, the first time they had been back at Winterfell Castle since his birthday, and Sansa made it clear she wanted to take advantage of the accommodations. Jon certainly wasn’t going to argue. And take advantage they did.

After, perhaps it was the post-coital afterglow or the fact he’d spent such an enjoyable evening or the lingering effects of Margaery’s whisky, but he finally made mention of what had been at the back of his mind for so long.

“Sansa?”

“Mmm?”

He pulled her more tightly into his chest. “What’s going to happen when the school year ends?”

Sansa tensed slightly in his arms, but didn’t say anything for a long while. “I don’t know. I don’t want it to end.”

“Is there something in particular you wish would happen?”

She moved to sit up and Jon did the same. She turned so she was facing him, pulling her knees into her chest as if she thought she needed something to hold on to that wasn’t him. “Wishing for things is a complicated thing for me. I know what my life is going to be. There’s no deviating from it—well, I suppose there is, but that’s not what I want. If I accept my duty, then the room for wishes that may come true narrows considerably.”

Jon sighed. “Gilly and I were talking today . . . about the future and stuff . . . mine’s a complete blank. That used to scare me.”

“Used to?”

“My mother is too much of a romantic to ever have given me any practical advice beyond, ‘Chase your dreams, Jonny.’ But not having money, not having a father to offer a meaningful example for what to do with my life, not having interests beyond things in the past that have no real chance of landing me a lucrative career—I thought it all added up to having nowhere to go. There’s a nicer way of looking at it, though, which is that I can go anywhere.”

Sansa turned her head slightly, trying to discern what he was saying.

“I haven’t made any assumptions about what would happen, and I know you may not be able to do what you will with your life, but I . . . I can.” He took a deep breath and asked quietly, “What if I came here? That is, what if I moved here?”

Her eyes widened and immediately began filling with tears and, maybe, Jon thought, hope. A hope or feeling that suddenly didn’t have an expiration date. Jon smiled and brought his hands to her face.

“Is that really possible?” she asked, putting her hands over his.

“Like I said, not having much means the sky’s the limit. Mum used to say that—she never looked at her lack of things as a reason not to do something. I didn’t really get that until . . . right now.”

“But it’s not fair, is it?” she replied, a plea that melted into a sob. “You having to give up so much just to be near me because I can’t do the same.”

“I’m not giving anything up. My family and I will always be close, no matter where we are. That’s always been true of me and Rhae. She and mum are the only thing I have, and moving doesn’t mean I’m giving them up.”

“But—“

“Sansa, women make decisions like this for men all the time. If you don’t want me to because you don’t want me here—”

“No, no, no! I just . . . you, um, you could—you really would do that to be with me?”

“For you, that’s the least of what I would do. And anyway, it’s not like it's just for _you_. Turns out, I really like sleeping in drafty castles, and I don’t have access to the ones in Dragonstone.”

Sansa giggled through her tears.

“I need to finish my degree, obviously,” Jon continued. “I could do that in just one more semester, so by the end of this year. I could be here by the time you graduate, and then, wherever you have to go, I’ll go. That’s more than a year away, and I’d need a full visa so I could work because I definitely need to find a good job to afford living here, so we’re presuming a lot but—”

“That’s what I wish!” she said, now grinning and crying and jumping on him again. “That’s exactly what I wish.”

Jon pulled her into him, now overcome with his own tears of relief and joy.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the flashback, Ned and Sansa talk about her going to Winterfell University, among other things.
> 
> In the present, Sansa graduates and more people learn about her relationship as she and Jon make plans for the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The flashback makes a comeback for this Sansa heavy chapter. She and Ned talk about his concerns about college and we get a look at the kind of queen she will be (and at the royal staff that our heroes will have to deal with later on). Also, hat tip to the Crown, which I've been catching up on and is my source of references that make this story sound even remotely realistic (which isn't really, tbh lol). There are a couple of things that I borrowed from it for this chapter and I explain in the end note. 
> 
> The present skips ahead to Sansa's graduation. Now that she is leaving the bubble she has been allowed to live for the last four years, the issues of living outside of it will start to pop up, including more people knowing about her relationship, including her mother. She and Jon also have to start considering that if their relationship is going to continue, things like jobs and responsibilities and other things will start getting in the way.
> 
> Thanks so much to everyone reading for your patience as I churn this out, slowly but surely.

**Sansa, age 17**

Standing outside her father’s study, Sansa took a deep breath before knocking lightly on the door. It was rare that he asked to speak with her alone so formally, and she wondered what it meant. Her best guess was that King Eddard had considered carefully everything that Winterfell University Chancellor Lewin had said when the chancellor had visited a month back but ultimately had settled on _not_ allowing her to go. What else could the news be but bad? He usually allowed her mother to be the messenger when it was good.

“Come in.”

Sansa turned the knob slowly and pushed the door open to find Ned looking out the window of the large, airy room.

“Hello, dear,” he said turning to her with a small smile.

“Father,” she replied, curtseying—a formality she always observed with him and took pride in doing so.

She still remembered the first time she had done it, when she was eleven, just after her grandfather’s death.

_Ned and Catelyn had shared the news with Sansa and Arya that morning. He'd been ill for a time. It was no surprise. After that, their parents had been away the rest of the day, making an official statement, overseeing the start of preparations for the funerals—a private one for the members of the royal family and a public one—as well as all the ceremonies that would follow to mark the succession. There was also a move to think about, to the palace at White Harbor, the official residence of the reigning monarch. That night, just before the girls went to bed, they came up again to say goodnight. Nanny Mordane had been in the process of turning down their beds and quickly whispered, “Girls!” on hearing the creak of the door. Sansa stood up, back straight and ready to do as nanny had instructed. Arya, however, made a move for the door, until Sansa caught her by the arm. Arya scowled at her, but Sansa only nodded urgently as her parents came in._

_Catelyn entered first, then Ned. Looking up to them both, the girls stepped back and pliéed their knees. “Your majesty,” Sansa said quietly, looking at Ned. Arya ran up to him and wrapped her arms around his waist. Ned chuckled and hugged her back. He looked up again at Sansa, who had stayed rooted to her spot, noting that his eyes were wet, a sight she had never seen. He took her chin in his hand, gently. “Very well done, my crown_ _princess.”_

“Chancellor Lewin sent a note today,” he said, gesturing to two arm chairs that faced each other next to the window. “He wanted to affirm your desire to attend university. He believes it will send a powerful and positive message on the importance of education, regardless of where you choose to go. He also has some thoughts on how we can normalize your presence on campus so it’s not disruptive to anyone.”

Sansa smiled, grateful for the support the chancellor’s letter represented, especially in the face of her skeptical father. “Thank you for telling me. I’m glad to hear it.”

“So have you applied?”

The question surprised her. “Does this mean you are allowing me to go?”

“It's what you want, is it not?”

“Very much.”

“So you have, then.”

Sansa shook her head. “I’ve been thinking about it quite a bit since speaking with the chancellor, and I’m going to wait a year. It’ll give me a chance to align my private studies with traditional schooling so I’m as prepared as I can be, and anyway, Jeyne will be finishing school next year. If I wait, we can apply at the same time.”

“Jeyne?”

“Poole’s daughter. We’re friends.”

“Of course. What about your cousin Robb? Your mother said he told Brynden he would delay Castle Black to go to university with you first.”

“He’s taking a gap year. So is Margaery. She’s been accepted already, as a matter of fact. She’s just deferring for a year.”

“Miss Tyrell? I wouldn’t have thought—“

“She’s the cleverest of all my friends.”

Ned thought for a moment, making Sansa nervous. “You’ll be a year older than most students your year.”

“Gap years are rather common now, but either way I don’t mind.”

“That’s true for Robb as well. If he still plans on the military, that’s five years until he gets to Castle Black. I’m curious how Brynden reacted to that.”

“You could ask him.”

“He’ll be almost thirty by the time he's commissioned.”

“I know, but he’s making a career of it, so I suppose when he starts matters less to him because he knows it’ll be for the long haul.” Sansa looked down at her hands. “I didn’t ask him to do this, in case you’re wondering. Robb wanted to go to university too, and I am grateful that he’s choosing to go where I go to make things easier for me. But if you want to question his choices, talk to _him_.”

“No, no. I’m glad he’ll be there for you.” Ned sighed and shifted to lean his elbows on his knees. “Darling, you know I have my concerns, but I do want you to understand that it isn’t because I think you’re unworthy or unprepared. I know how conscientious you are.”

“Then what is it?”

“This life . . . our lot in life—yours and mine—it’s harder on women than men. The world we live in now is not kind. You’re grown now, which means the expectations go up and willingness to forgive mistakes goes down. The press are vultures. You and your sister are beloved by everyone, but that’s a double-edged sword, one that insists on perfection and is keen on exploiting the lack of it, particularly when it comes to your personal life.” Ned stopped here to scratch his forehead. “I’m not sure you realize just how interested people will be—how that will affect the people around you. Say you trip and fall on the street—or worse at a party where everyone’s half-drunk. Someone could take a photo and the Mail will pay them a thousand crowns for it. Technology gives common folk greater access, which in turn creates greater entitlement. I want to protect you from that as long as possible.”

“Father, I can’t keep living here like a child. I understand what your fears are, and to be honest, I have those fears as well, but isolation stokes the curiosity too. That’s going to be there no matter what I do. Surely, you can see that you can’t protect me from it forever. I don’t see how your experience at Castle Black was so different.”

“Military service _is_ different. There’s structure and purpose. _Discipline_. The public understands what that is and sees it as valuable.”

Sansa stood up, not wanting to have this argument again. “Just because you don’t see what I want to study as purposeful or valuable doesn’t mean others won’t. If that will be all—“

Ned stood as well. “No, that will not be all.”

Chastised, Sansa sat down in a huff, hating herself for sounding so petulant and her father for refusing to entertain her interests in any way.

“Northerners are good people,” Sansa said. “ _Loyal_ people. You’ve always taught me that. I want to be a normal student, be a part of something because I’ve earned it. I want to study art. I want to study the history of our country. Our people will see good in that, I know it. Why must it be this instance in which you seek to assume the worst?”

Ned let out a long sigh and Sansa watched him closely as he walked over to his desk. Pressing down on a button on his phone console, he said, “Send Glover in, please.”

“Winterfell is not the reason I called you here, but if you do want to apply, I will support you. Everything you just said is right, but nevertheless, we’ll need to prepare for the eventuality of your living there in realistic terms.”

“That’s only if I’m accepted,” Sansa cut in quickly, still not eager to tempt fate on that score.

Ned’s face softened. “I can only imagine that you will be, and it’s not something I want to scramble together in a matter of months. Let’s be ready for every scenario, all right? Having a full year to do so is a good idea. I’ll have the staff create a security plan and handle the logistics.”

“I’d like a say in how it’s done. My intent is to live on campus, in a normal dormitory.”

“I’ll have someone from your mother’s staff give you regular updates.”

“As long as I’m empowered to change things if I don’t like them.”

With a chuckle said, “That is fine, so long as the same is also true for me. I think we can find a reasonable middle ground, don’t you?”

Sansa nodded, allowing herself to smile and letting out a breath of relief. She noted that in doing so, her father also seemed to relax.

“Now, for the real reason I wanted to talk to you, and I hope an easier topic. Your investiture.”

At that moment, the door opened and in came the head of her father’s office Mr. Benton Glover, a humorless, mustachioed man about Ned’s age who had been a presence in the palace since long before Ned’s family had moved in after the death of King Rickard. It often seemed to Sansa in the handful of times that she had encountered him that he fancied himself the keeper of all royal protocol and, therefore, the person truly in charge of the monarchy. He’d butted heads with Catelyn on the run of the royal household on more than one occasion. Sansa did not like that at all. She planned to live as normal a life as was possible for her in the years she’d have while her father was alive and king, which she sincerely hoped was a very, very long time. Nevertheless, as far as she was concerned, when she would be queen, no one in her employ would know the rules better than she did.

“Your majesty, your highness,” Glover said in his usual clipped tone.

“Thank you for joining us, Glover,” Ned said, sitting down behind his desk.

Glover and Sansa took the two chairs on the other side of it.

Looking at Sansa, Ned said, “As you know, when I became king, you as heir apparent became Lady of Winterfell.”

“It’s an honorific that has existed since the fortress was built,” Glover said. “The Queen Sansa, first of her name—“

“Named her husband Lord of Winterfell, then together they bestowed the title to their eldest son when he came of age, and it’s been the title of the first in line since,” Sansa cut in. “I know my history, sir.”

“She might actually have you beat as far as that goes, Glover,” Ned said with what Sansa thought was a proud smile.

“Very well,” he replied with a nod. “Then you know that although it’s been your title since your father assumed the throne, the fact has not been properly observed. The investiture ceremony will take place late this summer and follow the proper traditions. We also think it provides an opportunity to present your highness to the public and the press, as a young adult for the first time. The last time official portraits were done was for your sixteenth birthday. We’re planning a cover, photo spread and interview with a major magazine, as well as a—“

“Which magazine?”

“Pardon me?” Glover said, surprised at the interruption.

“Which magazine?” Turning to her father, she said, “I’d like a say in that as well—at least, I’d like to know how decisions are being made.”

“Your highness, this is what the courtiers are here to do,” Glover said, in a tone that suggested to Sansa that he did not like having to explain this to her. “We haven’t chosen the magazine yet but will do so according to what’s appropriate and following our standard process with any media event. You need not trouble yourself with it.”

Furrowing her brow, she replied, “You’re saying that this will be how I’m presented to the public as an adult for the first time, how I’ll be perceived by the entire North and beyond, and in the same breath asking me not to trouble myself with it?”

Ned chuckled, and Sansa wasn’t sure what to make of that. “I’ll see that you get reports on that as well,” he said.

“Sir—“ Glover tried to cut in but Ned continued speaking over him.

“In fact, we’ll talk to your mother’s private secretary about assigning you someone from her staff on a semi-permanent basis.”

Sansa opened her mouth to speak but Ned spoke over her as well, “Yes, darling, you may have a say in who it is.”

She felt her cheeks redden, but she smiled, grateful.

“The final decisions on the ceremony and staffing will remain with your mother and myself, and will adhere to the proper protocols, as Glover and his staff see fit, but the event should reflect who you are and I concede that you alone know your mind. Certainly, I am no expert on the matter. So you may be involved as much as you would like, keeping in mind that it may be much more tedious than you think.”

“What is this life but tedium,” Sansa said, getting Ned to laugh outright this time.

“Indeed.”

“Details matter, your highness,” Glover said. “Constancy is the comfort to which the public clings in uncertain times and precisely what the royal family provides. Your namesake established many of the practices we continue to follow precisely because her assent to the throne came on the heels of a decade of turmoil. For example, the dress she wore when she was crowned carried heavy symbolism representing every member of her family, each of them representing a piece of Northern lore. It’s important that we carry on in that spirit.”

“I agree, Mr. Glover, and I look forward to participating in the spirit of a queen who sewed the dress you are referring to _herself_.”

“You carry her name,” Ned said, “so it’s only natural. Glover, is there anything else the princess needs to know?”

“No, sir, this is a start. We’ll work with her majesty’s office as we move forward.”

“Very good. Darling, we won’t keep you unless you have other questions.”

Sansa shook her head stood, and the two men stood with her. “Thank you. I’ll see myself out.”

She curtsied to her father again and stepped out of the room. Once the door was closed behind her she took a deep breath. The conversation had only lasted a few minutes and yet she felt exhausted from it. She would always be herself and insist on it—that much her mother had taught her and Arya. That it was so tiring an exercise was news to her, however. She was about to step away when she heard Glover’s voice on the other side. Curious, she leaned into the door.

“With all due respect, your majesty, I must admit I am now rather intimidated by the thought of having to plan the princess’ wedding when the time comes.”

She heard Ned laugh. “Deepest apologies, Glover, but the fact that my daughter intimidates the likes of you is very reassuring to me.”

Sansa pursed her lips and walked away, standing with her back a bit straighter than it had been, pleased.

* * *

**Sansa, age 22**

Sansa stood on the fringes of the history department’s reception for graduating students, looking at her phone waiting for a text from Jon and wondering just how long after she heard from him she had to stay.

It had been a long week of receptions and gatherings in honor of her graduation from Winterfell University, which would be _officially_ official at the commencement ceremony the following morning. Being the princess meant that every professor she’d so much as passed in the corridors of A&S over the last four years felt obligated to hold a party for her and the king and queen, who in turn felt they could not disappoint anyone. Sansa was touched that so many people wanted to tell her parents how much her presence on campus had meant to them, but now she only had one night left with First Pembroke and her social graces were spent, her emotions on the verge of spilling over in every direction. She was exhausted physically and mentally. All she wanted was to go be with her friends and her boyfriend, whom she hadn’t seen in a month.

After completing his year away at Winterfell, Jon had returned home to Dragonstone and spent the following summer and fall finishing his credits to graduate from University of Dragonstone with full honors a semester early. The next few months were spent working nonstop to save up for his move while he waited for his visa application to be processed. Finally, in March, he was granted a conditional one that would expire within the year if he didn’t find a full-time employer who agreed to sponsor him for an extension of three or five years. Now, two months after his arrival, he was splitting his time between working as a library clerk and copy-editing online obituaries living in White Harbor in what he described as a “decent flat” in “not the _worst_ neighborhood” that Sansa hadn’t seen yet.

Despite how busy the two jobs kept him, Jon insisted that he liked being surrounded by books all day and reading about people’s interesting lives at night. The jobs paid the bills for now, but the issue of a longer-term stay was still unresolved. They’d seen each other only a handful of times since he’d moved, having agreed that it made sense for him to settle down, not in Winterfell, but where Sansa would eventually also have to return. She longed to get to see him regularly again, especially now that he was back in the North. In the back of her mind, though, she worried about how it would work, how they’d find time for each other between his two jobs and her mother’s plans to expand Sansa’s role at her foundation so she could begin life as a “working royal” now that she was out of university. The rest of her life hadn’t even started yet and already she felt being pulled in too many directions and away from what she wanted.

But they had the weekend, at least, in the place they’d met and fallen in love.

Finally, she felt the phone buzz in her hands.

**_Jon_ ** _: Just got to Pembroke. Theon and Alys are high as a kite. Harry is drunk but also being nice?_

**_Jon_ ** _: Margaery and Jeyne are drunk and crying. Robb is just crying._

**_Jon_ ** _: Needless to say, get here soon or else I will also be drunk, high, crying or likely all of the above when you do_

**_Sansa_ ** _: Seven hells_

**_Sansa_ ** _: I’m trying_

**_Sansa_ ** _: My parents never met any of my professors before this week and mum has just decided Dr. Tarth is her new best friend._

**_Jon_ ** _: In fairness, Dr. Tarth is the best._

**_Sansa_ ** _: True_

**_Sansa_ ** _: Also in fairness, I sympathize with the drinking and crying and may start both too when I get back to Pembroke_

**_Jon_ ** _: Graduation makes everyone emotional_

**_Sansa_ ** _: Did you cry at yours?_

**_Jon_ ** _: From exhaustion_

**_Sansa_ ** _: Ha! I sympathize with that as well._

**_Jon_ ** _: And because mum did and she never cries_

**_Jon_ ** _: By the way, I have a surprise. Two actually_

**_Jon_ ** _: Well, three_

**_Sansa_ ** _: !!!_

**_Sansa_ ** _: I told you not to buy me anything!_

**_Jon_ ** _: Who says I bought you anything?_

**_Sansa_ ** _: Well, now I’m intrigued_

**_Jon_ ** _:_ 😉

**_Jon_ ** _: But take your time getting back_

**_Sansa_ ** _: I’m leaving in 15 minutes!_

Sansa turned at the sound of her father behind her, clearing his throat. He looked disapprovingly at the phone in her hand, which she quickly dropped into the small handbag she was holding.

“You’re blushing,” he said.

“It’s just warm in here.”

“It is,” Ned replied, looking around. “Centuries-old buildings have their charm, but they can’t help but be stuffy in the summer and drafty in the winter.”

Sansa smiled, not quite able to manage small talk, even with her father. Luckily, by the look of him, he was ready to go as well.

“You look a bit tired,” she ventured.

“It’s been quite a week,” Ned said with a sigh. “How are you feeling?”

“Everything all at once.”

“I’m not surprised,” he said with a smile. "I’ve enjoyed hearing all about your exploits. I know you mother has as well.”

The two looked over to where Catelyn was laughing with Dr. Tarth and Dr. Lannister.

“They both had wonderful things to say about you.”

Sansa smiled. “I’ll miss them both. I’ll miss this place so much.” She felt that familiar pull in the back of her eyes she’d been feeling all week. No tears had spilled yet, not in public, but she felt as if each time it was harder to hold them back. “Thank you for letting me be here on my terms and for coming tonight. This week.”

“You insisted they would care for you well and they have, so it is not me you need to thank for that. Everything else . . .well, fathers like being told they should be proud of their daughters. And I am, Sansa. Very proud.”

Sansa took a deep breath as he smiled and squeezed her chin gently the way he used to when she was a child. It was as much affection as the very reserved Eddard ever showed. Sansa smiled gratefully, not trusting herself to speak.

“Let’s go fetch your mother,” Ned said. “She’ll be a terror tomorrow morning if she has more wine, and you deserve a good night’s sleep.”

Sansa laughed, which loosened her in a way she needed. Sleep was the last thing she would get tonight, but she appreciated the sentiment. Ned walked back toward where her mother was, and Sansa stepped away to let their driver know they were saying their goodbyes.

Minutes later, as they walked out of the building, Catelyn took Sansa’s arm into hers. “Are we driving you back, darling?”

“Oh, there’s no need. I can cross the quad more quickly than the car would get around.”

“Very well, we’ll see you tomorrow then, though not until after, I suppose.”

Sansa nodded.

“Remind me who’s families are coming for lunch at the castle.”

“Everyone—Theon, Jeyne, Alys and Margaery,” Sansa answered. "And Robb’s, obviously,” she added with a laugh.

Catelyn tilted her head slightly in a way that puzzled Sansa.

“What about the boy?”

“Who, Harry? No. His father’s hosting a party at the university club for him.”

“There’s someone else though, isn’t there?”

Again Sansa felt confused and slightly nervous. They were at the car. Her father was already inside and the driver was coming around to open her mother’s door.

“Go ahead and get the car started,” Catelyn said, waving him off and not turning back around until he was in the car as well.

When her mother was looking at her again, Sansa whispered, “How, um . . . how would you know that if I haven’t told you.”

“Someday, you’ll have children and you’ll have your answer,” Catelyn answered in an equally low voice. “I’d like him to join us tomorrow. Perhaps, he has other plans, though. Is he graduating too?”

Sansa sighed. “No, he’s not a student here.”

Catelyn’s smile widened. “So he does exist.”

Sansa’s shoulders drooped and she rolled her eyes, which made her mother laugh.

“I’m not trying to trap you dear. I’ve suspected it for a time. When we went to the powder room together earlier, you left your phone on the counter. I picked it up to see what time it was, that’s all.”

Sansa squeezed her eyes shut remembering that on her lock screen was the selfie she had taken with his phone outside of Pembroke the morning after he’d first arrived in Winterfell. “Why didn’t you just say something then?”

“I didn’t want to make a thing of it in the middle of the party. Darling, I just want to meet him—if he’s here this weekend, and here specifically because of you, then surely, he should be part of your family’s celebration . . . unless that feels too serious? Honestly, I have no earthly idea where background photo lands on the scale of things.”

Sansa couldn’t help but smile. “No, it’s . . . having him come wouldn’t be inappropriate. Not under normal circumstances, anyway.”

“So why didn’t you invite him?”

“I thought about it. I’ve been thinking about telling you for a while, I just . . . I don’t know how prepare him for this.”

“For meeting you parents or meeting the king and queen?”

Before Sansa could answer, the car door opened and Ned leaned out. “Are you getting in, Catelyn?”

“In a minute,” she replied, closing it again before Ned could say anything else. She nodded, urging Sansa to go on.

“It’s not you and father,” Sansa said. “But it is the king and queen and everything else on top of that—the press, the expectations, the pressure to be perfect, which he _is_.” Sansa sighed and Catelyn smiled. “Things are good between us— _really_ good. But once we step out of the bubble we’re in, there’s no going back. And he’ll have a million more reasons to leave. Reasons that will never go away.”

Taking Sansa’s hands Catelyn said, “If there’s no easy way, then all you have to do is decide whether the hard way is worth it, so is it? Is _he_?”

“He is,” she replied without hesitation.

“Well, if he doesn’t think you are worth the trouble, then _he_ is certainly not. You can’t learn that unless you decide to move forward. That’s up to you.”

“Is it?” Sansa asked pointedly. “This feels ambush-like.”

“A celebratory gathering of family and friends? Surely, there’s no nicer way to ease him in.”

“All right, fine,” Sansa said grudgingly, though she was smiling. She would hate how good her mother was at talking her into things if it weren’t a sign of how well Catelyn understood her.

“Good. When we get back tonight, I’ll tell the staff to add a setting for tomorrow.”

“And father?”

“I’ll lay the groundwork.” With a smile and pat on her cheek, Catelyn said goodnight, opened the car door again and climbed inside, with Sansa closing the door behind her.

After watching the car drive away, Sansa ran all the way back to Pembroke.

The lobby was empty, as was the hallway, which was littered with packed bins and moving boxes piled up outside everyone's room. But there was a merry cacophony coming from the lounge. Some sort of music was playing, but Sansa couldn’t make it out from all the talking—drunken yelling, really. Every one of her hall mates was there, plus Jon, and every one of them jumped up from where they were sitting and immediately bowed or curtsied to her in an exaggerated manner.

“Your highness,” they all said in unison.

“Sod off, all of you,” she said laughing.

They all resettled in their spots. Margaery and Jeyne on the sofa, Harry in the armchair, and Robb, Theon and Alys on the floor, around a suspect plate of brownies. Jon had stayed standing and looked around a bit awkwardly once everyone else had sat back down.

“Just kiss, for fuck’s sake,” Theon said, letting out a cackle. “Everyone here knows you’re a couple.”

Sansa rolled her eyes, then walked over to Jon, whose dear-in-the-headlights expression, didn’t stop her from grabbing his face and kissing him in front of all their friends. Everyone clapped and laughed around them, but it was the wolf whistle from Robb that finally had them pulling away.

“Wait, the picture’s blurry,” Harry said, looking at his phone. “Do it again. The Mail won’t give me money for it if they can’t tell it’s you.”

“Do you want to have a black eye on the day of your graduation,” Margaery said, all seriousness in her tone. “What would daddy say about that?”

“It won’t be from you because I know you won’t want a broken nail on the day of your graduation,” he replied with a smirk.

“Relax, Marge,” Jeyne said, handing over the bottle of wine in her hand. “Harry’s not going to do anything. If there’s a photo of Sansa with Jon in the tabloids tomorrow, it means they finally know _he’s_ not the one and they’ll stop paying attention to him and you know he won’t like that.”

Margaery took a long pull directly from the bottle. “You’re so sensible, darling. I’m going to miss the shit out of you.”

Jeyne immediately started crying. “Me too!”

Sansa laughed as they shared a weepy hug. Jon squeezed her hand. “That’s the evening in a nutshell.”

Sansa let out a shuddering breath, which Jon noticed. “You, OK?” he asked quietly, as the conversation continued around them.

“Yes, um, can we go to my room for a minute,” Sansa whispered.

Jon nodded and they moved to step out as Harry said, “Listen, we’re all going home to the harbor, aren’t we? Once there, it’s only a matter of time before the paparazzi find Jonny, here.” 

Before they were out the door, Alys stood up quickly and momentarily looked like she was going to fall over so Jon and Sansa grabbed her and she approached them. Putting her arms around both of them, she said, “San, you’re a clever girl, which means you recognize that I’m responsible for this,” she said, squeezing them together. “I’ve always thought Dame Alys has nice ring to it.”

Sansa giggled. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Anyway, the turd has a point,” Alys said, nodding at Harry. “We’re all going back home so let’s stop acting like it’s the last time we’re ever going to see each other. All this crying is giving me a headache.”

“I think your _dessert_ , is responsible for that,” Robb said. “Theon, you went overboard on these.”

“Fuck off,” was Theon’s answer. He was leaning back against Jeyne’s legs with his eyes closed.

“Are you falling asleep?” Jeyne asked.

“No, just riding it out.”

“Is it going to wear off by tomorrow? You’re meeting my parents and I think I mentioned my father carries a gun.”

“A big one,” Sansa added.

Theon opened his eyes and pulled one of Jeyne’s legs over his shoulder. “How could I fear the man who sired this beautiful cinnamon roll,” he said, kissing the inside of her knee.

“We’ll be back,” Sansa said, pulling Jon with her. “If everyone's staying up, I need comfortable clothes.”

Once they were in her room, Sansa’s nerves seemed to take over and she started pacing.

“So, I know you planned on heading back on the train after the ceremony tomorrow.”

“Is everything all right,” Jon said, stopping her taking her hands and pulling her against him. “You know your graduation is a done deal, right? They can’t take it back now.”

Sansa laughed and relaxed into his arms, tucking her face into his neck. “I love you, you know that?”

Jon chuckled and pulled his arms tighter around her. “I am aware of that, yes. It’s been good for me.”

“So you’ll forgive me for what I’m about to say?”

“Why don’t you say it and see?”

“My mother would like for you _not_ to head back to White Harbor after the ceremony and instead join us for lunch at Winterfell Castle.”

Sansa felt Jon still for a second then pull back to look at her. “Your mother.”

Sansa nodded.

“Queen Catelyn?”

Sansa nodded again.

“You told your parents about me?”

Sansa took a deep breath and looked down at her hands as they played with the collar of Jon’s shirt. “Mum, sort of pried it out of me tonight, but it had been in the back of my mind to tell them for a while. It’s been a year and a half, and we’re about to be in the same city as they are—I’m going to be living with them, Gods know—so I was thinking that it needed to happen soon. She made a good point that tomorrow is a happy occasion and all our friends will be there so no pressure. You have a suit, right?”

She looked up to meet his eyes just then. She loved his eyes. They were so honest and open and they looked at her like she was everything. Like she meant everything. They were looking at her that way now.

“I’m sorry for springing it on you like this,” she said meekly.

“It’s OK,” he said. His expression spread into an easy smile. “I’m . . . excited.”

“Really?” she asked hopefully.

“It’s a terrifying excitement and I wouldn’t say there’s _no_ pressure, but . . . it’s a good thing, right?”

“Very much so. Everyone I love will be all in the same room tomorrow!”

Jon grinned, but then stood back and scratched his head. “I have a tie and a sport coat. The pants don’t match, though.”

“That’s OK.”

“I’ve never had a reason to own a suit. I would totally go buy one but—“

“It’s tomorrow.”

“I could skip your graduation.”

“No!” Sansa bit her lip. “Please don't do that. It’ll be OK.”

He shrugged, unsure. “They’ll see the real me.”

Sansa didn’t want it to matter because this Jon was the one she loved, but she couldn’t help but think that she—that _her mother_ —was inadvertently setting him up to fail. She pulled him into a hug again. Earlier, Sansa had told Catelyn Jon was perfect, and he was. He was perfect for _her_. How to make everyone else see that?

“Do you want to hear about your surprises?”

She pulled back quickly. “Yes!”

Jon pulled her over to the love seat and they sat, still holding each other’s hands.

“First, Gilly called me today and said she got a job in White Harbor, so she’s moving there too.”

Sansa shrieked in delight. “Really!?”

“Yeah, Dr. Tarth has been helping her network and an old school mate of hers is an executive at some big company—I can’t remember which—and hired her as her assistant. Well, scheduler was the word she used. Assistant scheduler. Point is, she’s helping someone very important keep her life organized.”

Sansa smiled. “That suits her.”

Jon nodded. “The second surprise is that we’re talking about sharing a flat. We can afford a slightly nicer place together, and . . . I don’t know . . . we were just talking and it seemed like a fun idea.”

“That’s amazing!” Sansa looked down and bit her lip. “Though I must admit I was hoping we’d get to have your place to ourselves. I do like the idea of getting to see her on a regular basis.”

“I know,” he said with a shrug. “It’s just an idea. She said her dad didn’t want her to live alone and she doesn’t really know anyone else. It’s a huge city and we’re both new to it, and I thought it would help me live closer to the middle of town. I’ve been focused on just getting back here that I hadn’t really thought about how the logistics of getting to see each other are going to work when we’re not across the hall from each other.”

“Those were the days,” Sansa said wistfully and leaned into Jon who leaned back and snuggled her into him.

“Yeah. Where my place is now is probably not going to work long-term.”

“I guess that means we’ll need to tell her about us.”

“Is that OK?”

Sansa pulled back. “You don’t have to ask me permission. It’s your relationship too.”

“I’m not the public figure.”

“I trust you. Therefore, I trust anyone you trust. And I definitely trust, Gilly.”

“The circle of trust has gotten a lot bigger just today.”

Sansa giggled. “It has. I do like people knowing that you’re _mine_.” She ran a hand through his hair and Jon leaned into the touch. “What Harry said earlier, about how people will notice when we’re in White Harbor . . . he’s probably right. The press have given me a wide berth here, but it’ll be different there. Pictures will happen—they always do. Eventually, someone will notice you’re in them and figure out why.”

“Does that worry you?”

“This is the part of my life that’s the least fun and could lead to you potentially realizing that being with me has no upside.”

“Well, I did just hear you call me ‘mine’ in a very possessive, sexy way. I’d put that in the pro column.”

Sansa laughed and looked away, feeling her cheeks blush.

“So just grab me and say that whenever you think things are getting tough.”

“OK,” she said with a sigh. “But thing are just going to get more complicated from here. I feel like I’m throwing you into the deep end tomorrow with my parents and there’s no going back after that.”

“I can’t pretend I know what’s going to happen from here, and obviously, I’m not anyone’s definition of prince charming—“

“Excuse me! _Mine_!”

Jon chuckled but pressed on, “ _But_ I know I want to be with you. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

Sansa smiled, then narrowed her eyes. “Wasn't there a third surprise?”

“Yes!”

Before Jon could say more there was a loud knock on the door, followed by Margaery’s voice yelling, “Finish up, you horny bastards, we’re taking a group photo.”

“Right—in a nutshell, I might be getting promoted to full-time at the library, with enough of a raise that I could quit my other job—but even if I don’t get the promotion officially, I’m going to be helping the head of the Northern History Collection at the central branch on a big project.”

“Why is the promotion not a sure thing?”

“The position usually goes to someone with a library science degree, but the history focus means I know the subject, so the director has to sign off on it. My boss thinks it’ll be fine, but I won’t know until next week.”

“What about the work visa?”

“If I get the job, and if I get through the six-month probationary period, I can apply.”

Sansa dove into him. “Aaaah!”

Laughing, Jon said, “Did you miss the two ifs in that sentence?”

“OK, OK. Fingers crossed!”

“Hello, in there!” Margaery and Jeyne yelled from the hallway. “Get out here!”

Sansa laughed and quickly changed out of the dress she had been in and into leggings and her favorite Winterfell University sweatshirt, and she and Jon joined their friends in the Pembroke lounge again, for the last time.

Pictures were taken. They laughed, they cried, they hugged like they were never going to see each other again—even though they knew that wouldn’t be the case. It was past midnight when Jon and Sansa got back to her room.

The next morning, she was jolted awake by Jon’s alarm.

Groaning, she said, “What time is it?” as she felt him shift off the bed.

“Early. Go back to sleep.”

She pushed herself, blinked several times and watched him dress quickly. Confused, she asked, “Where are you going?”

Jon scratched his head. “I’m going to go buy at suit.”

“What?”

He sat down on the bed facing her. “I mentioned to Robb that I’m coming to lunch at the castle today with everyone to see if he had a suit I could borrow, and he insisted on taking me to buy my own because he said your mother will recognize it if it’s his.”

“That’s . . . wow.”

“Yeah,” he replied with a soft smile.

“But probably true about mum.” Sansa reached for her phone on her desk. “It’s 6:30 a.m. We’re supposed to line up in three hours.”

“I know. He insists that he doesn’t care if he’s late, but I’ll have him back, I promise.”

“What place is even going to be open at this hour on a weekend?”

“Apparently, there’s a guy he knows that Margaery’s brother hooked up with once. He’s a stylist or something. Robb called him last night and promised more compensation than I’m going to be able to pay back any time soon if he met us this morning, so if everything works out we may have to name one of our children after him.”

Sansa laughed. Jon leaned in for a kiss, which she happily accepted.

“I gotta go.”

Squeezing his hand, she said. “You don’t have to do this. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

“I do have to, Sansa. I think you know that. I want to make a good impression. I _need_ to. I’m not going to do that with a tie my mother bought me for my 18th birthday.”

She kissed him one more time. “I love you.”

“I love you.”

“Tell Robb I love him too.”

After he left, Sansa sighed back into her sheets, wondering just how much of an emotional roller coaster the day would turn out to be.

* * *

The weather was perfect. Sunny with a Northern breeze that kept the temperature warm instead of hot. The graduates sat in neat rows of rickety plastic folding chairs amid the trees of the central quad, a sea of robes and regalia surrounded by proud families and friends. Sansa was among her fellow history students for the procession and the ceremony, eyes shiny with tears throughout the morning and the kind of grin that signals pure joy.

When it was over it took a while for the crowd to disperse as everyone filed slowly out in every direction. The king and queen had sat in a special box set up for them next to the stage where the chancellor, the head of the faculty, the academic dean, the president of the board of trustees and several other guests presided over the ceremony. This gave students the opportunity to bow or curtsey to their majesties as they walked off the platform, diploma in hand.

Two images of the event would linger in the public imagination long after that day. One was of the crown princess curtseying to her beaming parents.

Ned and Catelyn followed the platform party out during the recessional as soon as the ceremony ended, having agreed with Sansa that it would be easiest for a separate car to be waiting for her to take her to Winterfell Castle after she was done saying her goodbyes and congratulations to her friends. After moving away from the crowd of classmates that had initially surrounded her when it was all over, Sansa started walking toward the spot where she and Jon had agreed to meet.

Feeling a tap on her shoulder, she turned to find Harry. She might have greeted him with an eye roll and a bit of sarcasm normally, but she was too happy for that on this day.

“Happy graduation, Harry,” she said. “Congratulations.”

“You too, your highness,” he replied with his usual smirk, but his voice sounded surprisingly sincere.

They shared a brief, slightly awkward hug.

“It’s been an interesting four years,” Harry said. “I’ll enjoy telling my children about having been college mates with the queen someday.”

She smiled. “I’ll tell mine the same about the prime minister, or whatever cabinet position you end up in.”

“I’m gunning for an ambassadorship, actually,” Harry said with a laugh. “Essos seems like a fun place to be.”

“Well, good luck to you.”

“Good luck to you and Snow. You’re going to need it.”

“Why? Did you send out your blurry photo?” Sansa asked with a sigh.

“If I had wanted to out your relationship, don’t you think I’d have done it by now?”

“Why do you think we need luck, then,” Sansa said looking around and ready for the moment to be over.

“Because I can tell he's going to be around for a while, possibly forever,” he said with a smirk, “but they’re never going to love him like the loved me.”

“Who is _they_?”

“The press, the public, the North.”

“The fact that you never considered me an essential part of that equation should tell you something. The tabloids love you because you feed them flattering stories about yourself, which they print because they think you matter to me.”

“OK, I may have fanned the flames myself at first, but what I mean is _I’m_ the type of person they all want for you: good family, well educated, nice looking.”

“That’s all true of Jon as well.”

“We have different definitions of what constitutes a good family.”

“I'm aware.”

“He’s not even from here, Sansa.”

“You underestimate Northerners and overestimate yourself, as usual,” Sansa said, turning to walk away. “Have a nice life, Harry.”

Thankfully, Sansa spotted Jon almost immediately and her joyful grin came back and Harry was forgotten. She almost tripped over her own feet seeing how good he looked. He was wearing a dark blue suit. The jacket was unbuttoned so she could see that he had a waistcoat. Practically swooning, she picked up the pace and jumped into his arms. Normally, that was more public affection than she’d be comfortable with, with so many people around, but everyone around them was hugging too. It felt right. She held on as long as she could, but it couldn’t be too long.

As they stepped away from each other, Jon said, “Congratulations. How do you feel?”

“Overwhelmed,” Sansa said, speaking honestly. “Happy. Proud.”

“You look it,” he said with a warm smile. "And you should be."

Sansa looked him up and down. “It’ll be a challenge, I’m sure, but we’re going to have to engineer some alone time sometime today.”

Jon chuckled and blushed in response.

“At the risk of making it sound like this was absolutely necessary because it wasn’t, I love it. You look good enough to eat. What time did you get back, though? I didn’t see Robb when we all left Pembroke to line up.”

“Robb did get back in time, though just barely. I think it was about 9:15? I drove back so I could drop him off. He sprinted out of the car.”

“Hey, Sansa!”

Sansa and Jon turned to see Jeyne smiling and walking toward at them. The three hugged, and Sansa greeted Jeyne’s family. After a few minutes, she and Jon headed back to Pembroke to meet the car that would take them to Winterfell Castle.

Nobody noticed it in the moment, but a university photographer had been standing behind Jeyne, a few feet away, when Jeyne called out to Sansa. On hearing the princess’ name, he looked up and snapped a photo at the same time Sansa and Jon turned in his direction.

That would be second image everyone would remember from that day, though it would take a little longer than the other to begin circulating.

The photo was not quite perfectly focused but well lit by the dappled sunlight on their faces, and well composed like the best candid shots are. The princess was in the foreground with a radiant smile, her eyes focused on someone just off camera. The young man behind her had been smiling too. The photographer didn’t notice it when he took the picture—the subjects of the photo hadn’t really noticed it either—but they were holding hands. He included the image in a slide show about the commencement ceremony that the university highlighted on its website the following week.

Days later, a popular blog that reported on royals around the world included the photo with a post about Sansa’s graduation. Not one of the hundreds of comments on the post could guess who the young man in the picture was, but they all agreed he was easy on the eyes and they wondered whether the hand-holding was incidental or meaningful in a way that needed to be investigated. A week after that, the picture was on one of the inside pages of a Northern society magazine on the stack of glossies that landed on the desk of Benton Glover every week in his offices at the Royal Residence at White Harbor. Most of the staff knew of Jon Snow by that point, having heard from the Winterfell Castle staff about who had been invited and introduced to the king and queen at the princess’ graduation party—someone who had first come to the castle more than a year before. Glover didn’t like it when the staff gossiped like that because it always turned into a headache for him. So when he read the caption that accompanied the photo, he groaned aloud.

_Does our princess have a new beau in her life?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few things:
> 
> First, my college graduation day was the happiest stress free day of my life. I say "happiest stress free day" because while my wedding and the birth of my children were also incredibly happy, emotional moments, there was A LOT of stress involved. Graduation for me was sitting in the sun as I watched 500 of my closest classmates achieve a huge goal, and I didn't have to be in charge of any of the planning of it. It was just a day I could enjoy being proud of myself. I went to a small college so each name was read individually, and we all got to walk across the stage, which is not the practice at a lot of big universities. I picture Winterfell University as having only about 3000 undergraduates total with Sansa graduating with 600 people or so in her class total. That would allow their undergraduate commencement to be what I describe and which is what makes Winterfell's undergraduate college so selective, with graduate schools like law, medical, business etc. being separate from this ceremony. All of this is to say that I feel for the thousands of young people who lost out on getting to mark this important moment in their lives this year because of the coronavirus. College graduation is a huge achievement so those of you who did that this year, you should be proud even if the event wasn't observed as it usually is.
> 
> Re: the Lord/Lady of Winterfell title. The Brits call the first in line the "Prince of Wales" and although Charles became that as a kid when his grandfather died, the ceremony to mark the title happened later. In thinking about what Jon's titles will be when he marries Sansa, I thought it would be fun to adapt that tradition for this story since it's based on a watered-down version of the British monarchy anyway. So Lady/lord of Winterfell is the heir's title and when Jon marries he will be lord of Winterfell, which they like because Winterfell was where they met. The story itself will go into that a bit when that happens. 
> 
> I've also been thinking a lot about the geography of this world lately as procrastination from actually writing. If this kind of way in the background stuff is of interest to you, here ya go. I picture the North being like the British Isles (except it's not "isles") with Winterfell being like the Oxford/Cambridge equivalent and White Harbor being the London equivalent. What is called "Westeros" in this universe is the European continent if the Holy Roman Empire had remained intact. Dorne is like Turkey, so an area that neighbors Westeros and is closely associated with it but that is culturally and ethnically different. (And like Turkish food, "Dornish" food is excellent and very different from what Northerners eat.)


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two years in, life as the NOT-boyfriend of the princess is getting to Jon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No flashback in this one, just life in White Harbor almost two years after university, with Jon being very much in his feelings about wanting to get to act like Sansa's boyfriend and still not getting to do so in public. 
> 
> As always I must apologize for how long it takes me to write. I apologize ahead of time for all the exposition and expository dialogue, especially at the beginning :)
> 
> Hoping everyone had a happy December--no matter what you celebrate--and sending the best wishes for a better (or at least less crappy) new year. Thank you all so much for reading!

**Jon, age 24**

Tucked in the middle of the thousand-year-old city’s business district, the Central Branch of the White Harbor Public Library System was a rare marvel of modern design surrounded by the usual stately traditional architecture the oldest parts of the city were known for. The woman who designed it had been the first female president of the Northern Institute of Architects and had received commendation from both the Northern Parliament as well as the king before her death. From both its front and rear entrances, the five-story building opened up into massive atrium and sculpture garden, popular with amateur and professional photographers alike, as well as foreign tourists. It was also a place locals who could afford the permit fees liked to take their wedding photos. So even before rumors began floating that the Princess Sansa’s supposed boyfriend worked there, library employees were used to having cameras around all the time. On the list of reasons a tourist with no actual interest in books showed up at the building on any given day, getting a peak at “THE Jon Snow” wasn’t even in the top five.

That was why Jon had come to love working there. Well, it was one of the reasons. The work was challenging and rewarding, never routine, and in line with Jon’s interests and strengths in a way he had not thought any job would be when he was younger. He loved his coworkers too. They were a motley crew—knowledgable and demanding and all too eager to take the piss out of one another when opportunity presented itself. His association with royalty, which so far as they knew was only a casual acquaintance, was a continual source of amusement to Mance, Tormund, Grenn, Edd and Val, but also not something any of them took seriously.

It all started just weeks after Sansa’s university graduation.

First, Jon was officially offered the position of research associate for the library’s “Northern History Collection”—an archive of historical documents and photographs that rivaled that of most museums around the world. Tormund, a self-described “treasure hunter,” worked on acquisitions. Grenn and Edd, database librarians by trade, maintained the online catalogue, and Val was in charge of the reference desk, assisting library patrons with requests to check out the items in the collection that were available for lending. Jon assisted Mance, the program director, with institutional requests and helping curate special exhibitions. 

Not too long after Jon started the job, he moved into a new flat with Gilly, a modest garden-level two-bedroom that Gilly’s boss secured for them on the edges of the posh neighborhood she lived in and only a short subway ride from the where the Central Library Branch was located.

Then, before he’d had the chance to settle into his new job, his new place or even his new routine with Sansa, _the picture_ appeared.

Grenn had dropped the magazine it was in on Jon's desk in the work room the collection’s staff shared without warning one afternoon, gruffly asking, “I’ve bet Edd a tenner that’s you, so is it?”

Jon looked blankly at the photograph. He didn’t recognize the image, but remembered the day, the event, the feelings he'd felt. He was in that suit he had woken up at the crack of dawn to buy, Sansa in her graduation robes, neither the wiser about a camera capturing them in the moment.

After several seconds of silence, Val spoke up. “He’s blushing—it must be him,” she said with a laugh.

“Ha!” Grenn shouted. “Pints are on you tonight, Edd!”

When he found his voice, Jon admitted he knew Princess Sansa from his time at Winterfell and took the subsequent ribbing with aplomb, mostly dodging the inevitable questions that followed.

That evening, Rhaenys texted a fuzzy shot of the same image along with, “you’re famous!!!” And that was that.

Two years on, the Northern tabloids and the members of the public who read them seemed to know nothing and everything about Jon Snow. It was obvious that he was in Princess Sansa’s life to some degree—pictures of her group of friends out and about confirmed as much. Despite their best efforts, Jon and Sansa couldn’t completely avoid being caught by the multitude of lenses always pointed in her direction. It happened just often enough to keep interest in him and who he was to her alive among those who cared about such things. No official confirmation ever came, however. Not from Jon or anyone who was close to him. Certainly not from the royal family’s press office, who laughed off every request for a comment. Jon was still, for the most part, a private citizen who only the most devoted royalists might recognize on the street. Snow was just common enough a name in the North that zeroing in on his identity had proved challenging. More than anything, Jon was a blank onto which people projected their own theories and wishful thinking—conjecture about which he was only nominally aware of because of his sister. Rhaenys found reading about her brother online endlessly entertaining.

The least wrong font of information that she had found about him was on “Sansa’s Salon,” a long-running blog that detailed the princess’ every public move and outfit. In the weeks after her graduation, the blog published a post titled “Everything we know about the princess’s new (possibly boy)friend,” which included a link to a Winterfell University press release from the year before announcing Jon and Gilly as the next Mormont Scholars and included headshots of them both. The post had been updated numerous times in the almost two years since it first appeared and now read thus:

> **_Everything we know about the princess’s new (possibly boy)friend_ **
> 
>   * _His name is Jonathan Snow and goes by Jon. (Source: WU press release)_
>   * _He’s from Dragonstone, Westeros. (Source: WU press release)_
>   * _He was the Westerosi winner of the prestigious Mormont Exchange Scholarship during the princess’ third year at Winterfell. (Source: WU press release)_
>   * _During his year at Winterfell, they both lived in Pembroke Hall. (Source: Tip from insider at University’s Residence Life Office)_
>   * _He participated in the university’s rugby club league with the princess’ cousin Robb Tully. (Source: Past roster listings on league’s page on WU’s website.)_
>   * _He graduated with a degree in history with honors from the University of Dragonstone. (Source: University of Dragonstone Registrar’s Office records database )_
>   * _He worked as a copy editor for several months at Legacy Online (Source: Confirmed by insider at Legacy)_
>   * _He now works for the White Harbor Public Library System. (Source: “New Employees” section of library’s monthly newsletter and multiple sightings at Central Branch building)_
> 

> 
> _Last spotted with princess: Both attended Theon Greyjoy and Jeyne Poole’s engagement party in January. (Source: Pictures and write up from Northern Society Today magazine’s website)_
> 
> _NOTE: Read our post on Jeyne for the full scoop on her lifelong friendship with the princess and everything we know about the wedding, for which Sansa will serve as maid of honor. The wedding is rumored to be scheduled for late this summer. No confirmation on the location, but sources tell us it may be in Winterfell, with the reception at the castle, a privilege allowed to Jeyne as the daughter of a long-time royal staff member. The princess will be wearing something of the bride’s choosing, of course. Prayer circle that we get a picture of Sansa and Jon together!_
> 
> _Updated January 23_

* * *

At the engagement party, everyone in the world Theon knew had showed up to express their shock that he of all people would be the first of his friends to get married.

“No one is more surprised than me,” Jeyne would quip whenever anyone made a joke about it, clearly amused by all the teasing but also clearly happy.

Since they had left Pembroke Hall, Theon had (mostly) given up the pot smoking and had joined his family’s lucrative shipping business in an effort to contain the wrath of his iron-fisted father, who spurred him via ultimatum: settle down or get cut off. Thankfully, the only thing stronger than his legendary brownies was his devotion to Jeyne, who was loved by his family and who supported him unconditionally, convincing the curmodgeonly Greyjoy patriarch to let his son work from White Harbor, where she had taken a job as a teacher at a private girls’ school, rather than the company's headquarters on the Iron Islands.

All the First Pembroke friends had attended the party, and many more besides, plus a gaggle of Greyjoys and Pooles. Too many people for Jon and Sansa to so much as stand next to each other for too long, but pretending they were nothing more than people with the same group of friends was second nature at this point. Jon still enjoyed getting to watch Sansa from afar, marveling at how well she floated through a room, making everyone comfortable and delighted by her presence. Occasionally, he would catch her looking at him and they’d smile at each other for a long moment before, inevitably, someone would step in front of him or her attention would be pulled away. Jon wished in those instances that he could just walk across the room, with the confidence of the love he knew she felt for him, and dip her into a long kiss, eyewitnesses and their cellphones be damned. But he always shook off the thought. He had no choice but to do so.

Among this lot, Jon was introduced as a dear friend of the couple from university and a groomsman, and he stuck close to Robb and Margaery and their dates throughout the evening to avoid having to participate in too much small talk with people he didn’t know, which was almost everyone. No one here asked him if he was really going out with the princess the way occasionally people he came into contact with through work or at the cashier station at his neighborhood grocery would do so. Perhaps that was because the posh set could tell he was not one of them and, thus, assumed Sansa would never choose the likes of him. He made it through mostly unscathed. The only awkward moment of the evening came towards the end, when alcohol had loosened everyone a bit and Theon, holding court with a large group well-wishers surrounding him, agreed that he did not expect that he and Jeyne would be the first to trip down the aisle, especially considering that theirs was not Pembroke’s longest running relationship.

When the words were out of his mouth, Sansa’s shoulders tensed slightly, just enough for Jon to notice from where he stood a few feet away facing her.

Realizing what he had said, Theon looked up to an equally panicked Jeyne.

But before either said anything, Margaery blithely stepped in, “Theon, are you seriously going to bore your poor family with tales of mine and Robbert’s decade-long shenanigans. Only such a loyal friend as you would call that a relationship.”

Everyone laughed, and Robb put his arm around Margaery. “This one wouldn’t marry me if her life depended it on it.”

“I’d sooner kill you,” Margaery replied, not missing a beat.

“You agreeing to marry me would do it.”

The laughter grew louder. Perhaps no one noticed that Theon had said longest-running and Margaery and Robb weren't a couple now. Or perhaps they did, and that was why Jeyne, taking Theon’s arm and pulling him to her, said, “Don’t worry Marge, Theon was referring to his own relationship with his marijuana plants.”

More laughter. And then another round of toasts, and then the small crowd dispersed.

Jon tried to find Sansa after, but couldn’t. When he finally did, she was hugging Jeyne, still seeming tense, but her smile at her friend was genuine. She left without saying goodbye—again, the norm—with a text to him signaling that she’d meet him at his place for a nightcap.

When he arrived home, Sansa was already there, talking to Gilly, who was in her pajamas but still answering work emails despite the hour. Sansa’s smile was tired, but she was happy to see him, _really_ see him, and to hug him close. Gilly did her best to give them alone time when she could, but on that night, the three of them were happy to stay up catching up, hearing about Gilly’s boss’ latest outrageous request. If either Jon or Sansa considered saying anything about what had happened at the party at any point, neither did. The moment had passed. They were too content in their sleepiness to bring it up now. In his room, they changed out of their dress clothes and with Jon in his boxers and Sansa in a T-shirt of his, they snuggled into his bed and talked about the party, how boisterous Theon’s family was, how nice it felt to have the First Pembroke crew all together, which was getting harder and harder to do. They talked about anything and everything, this and that, but they didn’t talk about the future.

They never talked about the future.

* * *

It was early February now. Sansa had been traveling in Westeros for the last few weeks, having left for an official royal tour with her mother just after the party. Jon hadn’t seen her since the early morning after, when her alarm had gone off so she could get back to the royal residence before her parents (or the paparazzi who sometimes camped out near the gates) would notice she had spent the night elsewhere. 

Her long absence paired with the long string of frigid, gray days that always marked midwinter in the North had left Jon in a sour mood that he couldn’t shake in all the time Sansa was gone. The only reprieve had come when the tour had stopped in Dragonstone and Sansa had taken a private day to spend with Lyanna and Rhaenys, the latter texting him play-by-play of Lyanna showing Sansa all of Jon’s most embarrassing childhood photos. At the end of it, Rhae had sent him a picture of the three of them that one of Sansa’s protection officers had taken. Sansa was in the middle with her arms around Jon’s mother and sister, pulling them into herself like they were all already family even though they’d only met twice before. (There was no such closeness with him and the king and queen. That was certain.) Jon had suggested, when the tour had been announced that he travel home ahead of time so they could all be there together, but the queen’s office had advised against it. Too many people would notice, Sansa had been told. The press would trail him, find his mother’s house and surround it. The justification seemed reasonable at the time, but looking at the photos again now, a part of Jon wished he had defied the orders. He considered, too, what it meant that he had to follow orders—that people who continued to publicly deny his presence in Sansa’s life felt they could order him to do anything. 

He followed them because he had to, but it was getting harder to pretend he had no association with an institution that seemed to be taking over his life. Just today, when Sansa was supposed to come back into town, she had called to say that her mother had delayed their return a day. The relaxing, romantic weekend that Jon had planned for them at his place—with Gilly helpfully agreeing to visit her dad for a couple of days—was out the window. Deference to _The Firm_ came with the territory—that’s what Sansa always said. If that was the price of being in her life, as far as Jon was concerned, the price was worth it. But lately, it felt like something else—it felt like a way for Sansa’s minders to keep him in a box. What better way to keep a relationship from growing or evolving than to convince them both that to stay together, they had to stay apart.

“What’s eating you today, Snow?”

Jon looked up and quickly put his phone away.

Tormund was standing over him with a knowing smile, one that made Jon wonder whether he had seen the picture of Sansa, Lyanna and Rhaenys that Jon had been looking at.

“Nothing,” he answered quickly, turning himself toward his computer monitor. “Other than the fucking weather.”

Behind Tormund, Grenn laughed. “Why do you live here if you hate the cold so much?”

Jon sighed. “My mother made winter sound more fun than it is, I guess, and I was the idiot who thought, ‘How cold could it possibly be?’"

“How’s your girlfriend liking your home country?” Tormund asked.

“If you’re talking about the princess, she likes it so much, she’s going to convince her father to invade and reunite the old seven kingdoms again.”

“That’s a great idea,” Tormund said, laughing and ignoring Jon’s dry sarcasm. “But you two could just re-unite the North and the South by getting married. That would save us the war, at least.”

“I don’t think that’s how it works anymore, and I was kidding, obviously.”

“Snow’s not really royal marriage material anyway,” Grenn said. “He’d have to get a major upgrade first.”

“I just want to be invited to the wedding,” Tormund said.

“I don’t think they’d let the likes of you into the palace either,” Grenn said.

Tormund frowned. “The stag do, at least?”

“Can I get back to work now?” Jon asked. “I can assure you I’m not going to be planning a wedding night anytime soon—or a stag night. ”

“Like you’d tell us anyway,” Tormund said, walking away with an overly dramatic huff that Jon couldn’t help but laugh at.

The rest of the day, though, he couldn’t shake the words out of his head.

_I can assure you I’m not going to be planning a wedding anytime soon._

He was only 24. It seemed silly to be increasingly preoccupied with the idea of getting married. He wasn’t even sure he was ready. He knew, though, that Sansa was who he wanted to marry. He’d known almost from the moment he met her. The longer they were together, the more real and tangible the idea became in his mind. But the more time passed, the more the whims and dicta of her family creeped into his life, the less possible it seemed. Jon wanted to start talking about the next step, to make plans, to start having conversations about kids and careers. He wanted a future with the person he loved, except Sansa’s future didn’t belong to her. If he was to be a part of it, he would be forced to conform to what had already been set out for her. He was doing that. At least, he was _trying_ , but he couldn’t help but chafe under the notion that to this point, conforming simply meant going along with the notion he didn’t exist. That Jon and Sansa, _the couple_ , didn’t exist.

By the end of the day, Jon felt about as low as he had all month. It was the weekend, and he was getting ready to spend it alone contemplating why it bothered him so much that for all its goodness, his life seemed not to be going anywhere.

As he sat on the train on the way home, he texted Sansa.

_Heading home now. Can we talk soon?_

_Miss you_

Jon stared at the screen for several minutes but there was no response—or even an indication that she’d gotten the texts.

With a sigh, he started typing another text, this one to his sister.

**_Jon:_ ** _My Friday night: staring at the ceiling waiting for my girlfriend to call me back. You?_

**_Rhaenys:_ ** _lol drama queen_

**_Rhaenys:_ ** _working as always_

**_Jon:_ ** _Oh, I won’t keep you then._

**_Rhaenys:_ ** _it’s ok I’m at home_

**_Rhaenys:_ ** _just working on stuff for the blog_

**_Rhaenys:_ ** _and trying to figure out the spring menu at the restaurant. what’s up?_

**_Jon:_ ** _It’s been almost a month since I’ve seen Sansa. Feeling somewhat frustrated._

**_Rhaenys:_ ** _too much information_

**_Jon:_ ** _Not like THAT_

**_Jon:_ ** _OK, yes like that, but I also just miss her and want to talk to her about stuff but can’t._

**_Jon:_ ** _You have seen her more recently than I have._

**_Rhaenys:_ ** _I totally get missing her_

**_Rhaenys:_ ** _she is intensely gorgeous in person_

**_Rhaenys:_ ** _and also sweet and hilarious. how did you get her to like you??? I seem to only attract assholes_

**_Jon:_ ** _Is there a current asshole?_

**_Rhaenys:_ ** _Kind of_

**_Jon:_ ** _?_

**_Rhaenys:_ ** _He’s the new sommelier at the restaurant_

**_Jon:_ ** _This is where I’m supposed to make a raunchy joke about “pairings” but I don’t have the energy._

**_Rhaenys:_ ** _ha_

**_Rhaenys:_ ** _seriously tho you ok?_

**_Jon:_ ** _Sansa comes with challenges I’m not sure how to deal with and that are obviously non-negotiable._

**_Rhaenys:_ ** _like?_

**_Jon:_ ** _to start, see above comments about not getting to see her much_

**_Rhaenys:_ ** _I thought you two had this weekend together_

**_Jon:_ ** _Change of plans courtesy of her mum. And Gilly even took a trip home so I have the apartment to myself for once._

**_Rhaenys:_ ** _Le sigh_

**_Jon:_ ** _Yeah_

__

**_Rhaenys:_ ** _is that all?_

Just then, the train pulled into Jon’s station. He hopped off and opted to call Rhaenys so they could talk as he walked home, now that he was out in the open air.

“Hi!” she greeted upon answering at first ring.

“You tell me about the sommelier first,” Jon said without preamble. “That way I don’t feel like I’m just using you for therapy.”

Rhae laughed. “Not much to tell. He’s hot and gives me good wine, which suits my current needs.”

“But?"

“No but—I’m just married to my work and starting to wonder if that’s sustainable. I have to sustain it, though, if I want my own restaurant eventually. I’ve gone as high as I can at this place so I feel really close to what I want but also really far away. I know that’s the next step and it’s all can think about right now.”

Jon couldn’t help but chuckle. “Interesting.”

“What?”

“You just vocalized all my issues,” Jon replied, “except we’re dealing with two different things.”

“What do you mean?

“The next step being all you can think about right now, is basically exactly where I am.”

“You mean with Sansa? What’s the next step for—oh!”

Jon chuckled. “Yeah.”

“Just so I’m clear. You want to marry her.”

“Yes. That’s kind of always been true. But it used to occupy this sort of fantasy space in my mind, and now . . .we’ve been together for more than three years. We’re at a point where, if she were any other person, I would start making plans and saving money for a ring. We’d be talking about the long-term.”

“Who says you can’t do all of that?”

“The people who won’t let us stand next to each other in public for more than five minutes.”

“Seriously?”

“Almost.”

Jon heard Rhaenys let out a long sigh on the other end of the line.

“Thoughts you want to share?” he asked, nervous about what she’d say.

“You guys are still pretty young. Are you sure this is something you need to be worried about right now? Just because marriage is the next step doesn’t mean have to take it _now_.”

“I know. It’s just that . . . at the beginning, the secrecy was meant to protect the relationship. Now, I feel like it’s _stunting_ it. ”

“At the risk of sounding like a functional adult, I think you should just talk to her.”

“OK, but am I making sense or am I just being a selfish asshole?”

Rhaenys laughed and the sound made Jon laugh too, despite the fact that he’d asked the question in earnest. “Honestly, Jon, you’re in a situation that literally no one else in the world is in. I’m not sure what to say except be the person you are. She loves you. That’s more than obvious. Lyanna and I even talked about it after Sansa was here. Lyanna said that when they met the first time, she thought Sansa was just killing time with you.”

“Really? She said that?”

“I think she was just worried you were going to get your heart broken. Normal mom stuff. But Sansa really seems all in, like you also clearly are. So . . . trust the process, I guess?”

Jon laughed again. “OK. You should trust yourself too. You still have dad’s money so you don’t need investors to go for it on your own. Just do it.”

“I don’t know,” Rhaenys replied. “Dornish places are a dime a dozen around here.”

“Come to the North, then. There aren’t that many in White Harbor. Definitely no good ones.”

She laughed. “I’ll keep that in mind."

As Jon got close to his apartment, he and Rhaenys said their goodbyes. Walking down the steps to the door, he pushed his phone into his pocket and took his keys out. He noticed the light inside was on. His brow furrowed as he wondered if maybe Gilly had stayed home after all.

“Gil?” he called out after closing the door.

“Aren’t we supposed to have the run of the place for the weekend?”

Jon heard her voice just before Sansa stepped into view wearing the robe she had given him for his last birthday open over a lacy black nightgown that left very little to the imagination.

“Seven hells,” he said with an anguished sigh that made Sansa giggle as he dropped his bag and made it to where she was standing in the middle of his living room in two steps. She jumped into his arms, wrapping her legs around his waist, and Jon turned toward the nearest wall to push her against it. The kissed feverishly for several minutes until they had to come up for air. Jon dropped his face into her neck and took a long deep breath.

Sansa’s legs dropped to the floor but she didn’t let him go, pulling him further into her as her fingers threaded through his hair.

“Gods, I’ve missed you,” he said finally pulling back to look her in the face. “I’m almost embarrassed to say how much.”

She smiled and leaned in for another kiss. She pulled back to say, “I missed you too,” but it only came out as a half laugh as Jon chased her lips. Eventually, he turned to focus on her neck again and then lower to her cleavage.”

Sansa giggled again and said, “I have a big surprise for you in your room.”

“Yes, indeed!” he said, lifting her up again.

“Not that kind of a surprise,” she said laughing.

“What?!”

Sansa practically cackled at the look of sad shock on Jon’s face. “Yes, we’re going to do it, but there’s something else I need to show you first. Two things.”

“OK?”

With a peck to his cheek, Sansa motioned for him to put her down. She took his hand and pulled him toward the closed door. Before opening it she said, “I can’t decide if you’re going to hate or love this but . . .” Finally opening it, she called out, “OK, you two! Time to say hi!”

Jon stepped into the room and gasped as two Northern wolfhound puppies jumped off his bed and slid across the hardwood floor to nip at his and Sansa’s legs.

“You got me two dogs!” he said in disbelief as he kneeled to pet them, laughing as the pups jumped and licked and yipped in excitement. One was snow white and the other a mix of white and gray.

“I got _us_ two dogs,” she said, grinning and kneeling next to him. “They’re the reason I came back a day late. We’ve kept Northern Wolfhounds at the palace my whole life—my father treats them like his other children. One he gave to my Grandfather Tully had a liter so we detoured on the way home from Westeros to pick them up. That’s where the extra day went. I would have told you, but I thought it would be a fun surprise.”

“Well, everyone at the library would tell you that I made for a very angry coworker today, but I do appreciate it. They’re awesome. We get to keep both?”

“I know it’s a big commitment so you can say no. I’ll take them back to the palace and no harm done. Or I can just keep them there. There were six total and father asked if I wanted one, but I couldn’t decide between these two so I thought . . . like I said, if it’s too much, you can say no.”

Jon picked up the white puppy, which kept trying to climbup on him. “How can I say no this face?”

“I know, right?” Picking up the other pup, Sansa said, “I named this one Lady because she is already the best girl, aren’t you? I thought you could name that one, and keep him here if you want. Both is probably too much for this small an apartment.”

“Yeah, they get pretty big, don’t they?” Jon asked.

“They do, but they’re also surprisingly docile. And Lady and I are bonded for life so I’m afraid it would be devastating to her to separate us.”

Jon laughed, smiling at the prim way Lady had sat herself on Sansa’s lap, clearly the better behaved of the two. “I’ll need to talk to Gilly. I’m not even sure if we’re allowed to have dogs here.”

“No need to worry! I talked to Gilly about it yesterday, and she said would love it. She also checked with your landlady, and I told her I’d pay the pet deposit since I just sprung this on you. I’ll bring him back to the palace if you want to take a few days to dog-proof the place and buy him some food and stuff, but he has a bed and the staff is training him.”

Jon watched his dog for a long moment. “You don’t make much noise, do you boy? How about Ghost for a name?”

“I like it!”

The puppy stopped sniffing around Jon’s hands for a second then circled several times before settling on Jon’s legs similarly to the way Lady was on Sansa, causing both Jon and Sansa to laugh.

“He does too, it seems, and he loves you.” Sansa reached out to caress Jon’s cheek and he leaned into the touch. “But who wouldn’t love this face?” she added quietly. “I’m glad I can still surprise you. We had to tell the press pack about coming back a day late, so I wasn’t sure how much you might have read about why.”

“I don’t read about you. It’s weird enough before I started getting mentioned regularly. Rhaenys likes to send me links to the more outlandish stories, but I usually just delete them.”

Gently pushing the puppies off their laps, Sansa settled herself on Jon’s lap straddling his legs. “Now that you’ve seen your surprise . . .”

“Yes, let’s do this,” Jon said, pushing the robe off her shoulders to kiss them. “I suppose we need to close the door so we don’t traumatize the kids.”

With a giggle, Sansa replied, “That’s probably a good idea.”

As they pushed the dogs out into the living room, she said, “They should be OK out here, but if they do any damage—”

“It will be one hundred percent worth it,” Jon said, pulling her back into his room and pushing her against the closed door in a searing kiss. After doing that for several minutes, Jon picked Sansa up and set her down gently in the middle of the bed. He kneeled on the floor at the end of it and pulled her legs toward him. “Settle in sweet girl because daddy’s going to take his time.”

Sansa sat up quickly and said, “I should mention I can’t spend the night tonight. I have an early meeting.”

Jon let out a frustrated sigh and his shoulders visibly sagged.

Sansa scooted to the end of the bed where he was and brought her hands to his neck. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“You can’t get out of it? I thought we were going to have the whole weekend.”

“I can come by again tomorrow night. I’m as frustrated as you, but I’m trying to buy as much goodwill as I can with my parents. I talked to mum a lot during the tour about potentially stepping back slightly from this workload to make a long term plan about building my own staff and to finally be able to work on my book, rather than just continuing to help her with her work. I’m hoping that when they let me do that I’ll be more in control of my own schedule—that’s why I’ve been saying yes to everything the office has asked me to do and let myself be so visible. I need their goodwill for when . . . when we, um—when I start making decisions about my public life and my work on my own. And I need their blessing. Do you get what I’m saying?”

“OK. I just . . . I missed you.”

Smiling sweetly, she replied. “I missed you too, and I don’t have to leave for a few hours.”

“Hours are never enough, but I’ll take what I can get.” Jon slid his hands up the backs of her bare calves and felt his face settle into a smile. The one only she could bring to his face. Whether this was forever or not, he would take whatever she wanted to give him. “Now, what did I say about settling in?”

Sansa pulled him into a long kiss before laying back down on the bed.

* * *

Jon spent all day Saturday getting the apartment ready for Ghost, excitedly buying more toys that even a puppy would know what to do with. When Sansa came back that night, they ordered her favorite take out and taught Ghost how to play fetch along the short length of the apartment’s hallway.

That Monday, he was in as fine a mood as his team at the library had ever seen him in. So good was his mood, in fact, that when he practically tripped over a photographer who got in his face as he went into the library, he told the guy to fuck off without a second thought and for once didn’t let it ruin his day. The guy was still there at the end of the day, joined by several more including another guy with what looked like a TV camera. As Jon made his way to the train station, they followed him. As he tried to make his way through the evening crowds on the sidewalk, he could feel people’s eyes on him—their attention drawn by the cameras on his heels. He was at the stop of a stairway down to the subway, when, fed up, he turned and yelled, “What the fuck do you want?”

There were only more flashes in response, bright disorienting lights that blinded him and made him dizzy. He knew he’d be trapped if he walked down to the subway platform, so instead, he just kept going on the sidewalk and his brisk walk turned into a run. He could still hear the din of the cameras behind him, so he ran faster, cutting into an alley at one point and finally jumping into a taxi when he came out to the street again the other end of the block. He still felt the glare of the flashes through the window when he closed the door behind him.

“Popular one, aren’t ya?” the taxi driver said as he pulled away from the curb. “So where are we going?”

Jon was about to say his address, but suddenly felt paranoid about saying it to a total stranger—and one who had seen him being followed by paparazzi—so instead, he told the driver to take him to a park about three miles from the apartment.

From the park to his place, the hour-long walk helped calm him down. He noticed that Rhaenys had called a couple of times, but since she hadn’t left a message, he figured it could wait until the next day. His street was quiet when he finally turned onto it, for which he was grateful. Gilly had returned from White Tree that morning but wasn’t home now. Instead, she had left him a note saying she had a work dinner and would be home late but had taken Ghost out before she left.

After taking a long hot shower and making himself dinner, Jon slipped some shoes on to take Ghost out one more time before he turned in for the night. When he opened the door, though, he saw Sansa coming down the steps.

“Hey! I didn’t expect to see you today,” he said, smiling—until he saw the way her lips were pursed in clear annoyance.

“Can we talk please?” She said coming into the apartment.

“Uh, of course, what’s wrong?” Jon replied, worried. He closed the door again and ignored Ghost as he continued to jump around against it.

“Why would you tell someone holding a camera to fuck off?”

“What?”

“There’s also video going around right now of you running with the paps chasing you for blocks—why would you do that?”

The annoyance he had felt back in that moment outside the library came back full force. “Should I have just stopped and held a press conference?”

Sansa let out a frustrated sigh. “If you run, they chase you. You made a huge scene, and on top of that video, which apparently has been played everywhere all day.”

Jon realized now why Rhaenys had been calling. He started pacing to try to work out his anger. “They were _everywhere_. What in the seven hells was I supposed to do?”

“They were everywhere because of the video, which I had to get lectured about by my father’s prick of a secretary.” Sansa stopped to take a deep breath and Jon saw that tears were welling in her eyes. “I’ve told you that we need to build goodwill, and this has made that so much harder.”

Jon rubbed his face with his hands, trying to calm himself down. “The guy wouldn’t get out of my way, OK? What was I supposed to do? Honestly, Sansa that’s as honest a question as I can ask. I was just trying to get to work. I’m just trying to live my life here. That was this morning, and the fuckers chasing me happened like three hours ago." 

"The internet is both instant and forever!"

"Sansa, I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to handle any of this.”

Massaging her temples, she said, “You can't just play into their hands. Embarrassment is their lifeblood. If I could take this bloody circus away, believe me, I would, but I can’t. This is how us being a couple _has_ to work. There’s no getting around that.”

“Is it working, though? Are we a couple? Because when people ask me that, I say no. So do you. So do the people who work for your parents. According to literally anyone who is asked, the answer is no.”

“You have known from the beginning why that is,” Sansa said in a shaky voice. “I thought you were OK with keeping things private.”

“I was—I am, but it’s starting to feel like I’m lying. Not to everyone else, but to myself. Are we _ever_ going to tell anyone I'm in your life? Is there an endgame here?”

Sansa had turned away and Jon could see that her shoulders were shaking. He took a step toward her, but she stepped away slightly. He waited for her to compose herself. After a shaky breath, still not facing him, she asked quietly, “Is this it, then?”

Jon felt anguish. “No—I don’t want this to be it. I want to have a future with you, Sansa, a real one, but in all honesty, I don’t know how much longer I can handle things as they are. Because I have all the inconveniences of a public life with you in it, but none of the benefits. When we go out, we have to be in a group, and then, I don’t get to hold your hand or kiss you or anything. I can’t have a photo of you at my desk at work. I can’t take you to meet my colleagues when we go for a pint. I’m your boyfriend, but I’m not. Can _you_ possibly go on the way things are?”

Sansa turned to him with the saddest expression he’d ever seen on her face. “You ask me that question like I’ve ever had a choice about any of this!”

“I know,” Jon said. “And I'm sorry. This is just how I feel.”

“And obviously, it’s been building for a while, has it?” Sansa asked.

Jon nodded.

“Why haven’t you said anything?”

“Because I was afraid this is exactly how it would go."

She took a deep breath and said, “You need to take Ghost out.”

Jon stepped forward again. “Sansa—“

But she left without looking back.

* * *

Later that night, Jon tried calling Sansa but the calls kept going straight to voicemail. Eventually, he left a message.

_Sansa, I’m so sorry if how I acted was embarrassing or made things difficult for you. That’s the last thing I want. I wasn’t acting like an adult, and I’m sorry. I mean it when I say I don’t know what I’m doing. I know you have had to deal with these pressures your whole life, but I’m out of my depth. Regardless of that, though, I love you and I will do whatever you need me to do to get to keep doing that._

After a restless night’s sleep, he got up early to take Ghost out. He wasn’t gone long, maybe fifteen minutes, but when he returned there was a man in his living room wearing a very expensive looking suit along with a bewildered, half-awake Gilly, still in her pajamas.

“Uh, this is Mr. Glover,” she said. “He said he’s here to see you and wasn’t willing to wait outside. I’m just going to . . . “ Pointing to her room, she practically ran off and closed the door.

“May I help you?” Jon asked.

“Do you know who I am, young man?”

“No, sir.”

“My name is Benton Glover and I work for His Majesty the king.”

Jon felt his heart start to race, as his nerves took over. “OK.”

Mr. Glover looked Jon up and down—clearly disapprovingly. When he was done doing that, he looked around the messy apartment, his eyes ending up on Ghost, who was standing protectively at Jon’s feet. Even the sight of the puppy didn’t crack the man’s stern expression. With a shake of his head, Mr. Glover took an envelope out of his jacket pocket and handed it to Jon, who momentarily wondered if this was some bizarro royal break up ritual.

“What is this?”

“That is an invitation to the Princess Arya’s commissioning ceremony at the Royal Military Academy at Castle Black.”

“An invitation for _me_?”

“I can't believe it either, but it’s true. The event is at the end of May, which means you and I have little more than three months to get you ready to be presented to the public as someone worthy of escorting the crown princess to an important family event, and if I may say so, Mr. Snow, we have our work cut out for us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's happening! Or, it's going to--Jon's prince makeover that is.
> 
> In the next chapter, we'll get Sansa's perspective on the situation and what happened between when she left the apartment after the fight that led to Glover showing up at Jon's door the following morning.
> 
> Thank you for reading! Let me know what you think!


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The official roll out of "Princess Sansa and Mr. Jon Snow" begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An update so soon! I know! I can't believe it either. This chapter was essentially already written because it was the first chapter I had in mind when I decided I wanted to take on this story. The last scene in particular has been waiting in the back of my head for many months to finally come out.
> 
> This chapter picks up a few days later, but then tracks back to essentially right where we left off, but from Sansa's point of view. After this, just one more chapter to go and likely an epilogue after that. Thank you to everyone who has stuck with this story! I hope you continue to enjoy it as it gets to the end!

**Sansa, age 24**

“Your Highness, we’re here.”

Sansa jolted awake, hearing the voice of the protection officer who had spoken from the front seat.

The Tyrell estate—well, this particular one—was an hour and fifteen minutes south of White Harbor. That wasn’t usually long enough for Sansa to fall asleep, but this had been a trying week. That her body had just let go at the end of it wasn’t a surprise to her. A dinner party was not necessarily Sansa’s idea of a relaxing Friday evening, but tonight, it was mostly people she knew and with whom socializing didn’t require much effort.

And there was the theme of the night: "Goodbye to Jon’s Long Hair.” This was not a party Sansa could miss. Seeing her close friends, knowing she had their support, would be essential to making it through the next few months, given the stress they were likely to bring. If the last few days were any indication, it would be a lot.

* * *

To say that Monday had been _a Monday_ was gross understatement. In retrospect, Sansa was grateful for where it had led, but her fight with Jon that evening had set her on an emotional roller coaster from which, four days later, she was still recovering.

Sansa did not like fights, as a rule. Arya jumped into them as if it were sport, but Sansa’s instinct was to be conciliatory. It’s not that she always gave in—she prided herself on not being the doormat Arya had always accused her of being when they were kids. Sansa merely preferred to avoid direct confrontation, learning instead to use her courtesy as her preferred weapon and to anticipate arguments by addressing the root issue ahead of time. With Jon, though, it was as if she had done the job _too_ well. Even before the video of him losing his temper with the reporter, the thing that had prompted the fight, Sansa had started to sense a discomfort in him. And that discomfort had grown into a sort of malaise festering between them that she couldn’t bring herself to deal with head on.

Since they’d both been in White Harbor, their time alone had been as wonderful and comforting and perfect as it had always been. But shutting the world out, her world in particular, and pretending the pressures of it didn’t exist couldn’t be sustained forever. That they’d managed to do so for more than two years was a kind of miracle. In her own mind, Sansa addressed the obvious root cause: the unspoken but clearly mutual uncertainty about what their future as a couple could look like, given who she was now and who she would become. This was a “problem” that, for Sansa, had really only one solution. She was too far gone, she loved him too much, needed him too much to contemplate a future in which Jon Snow wasn’t by her side. But she couldn’t start the conversation about the future with him until she was sure it was even possible. She wouldn’t bring him (or herself) to the brink only to be told a resolute no.

Her plan was to work tirelessly, do everything her father, King Eddard, asked—be the perfect princess in every conceivable way. Then, eventually, after gaining the goodwill of her parents and the royal staff and after showing she was capable of shouldering the load she was expected to carry in public service, she would ask her parents for the only thing she intended to ever ask for: to be allowed to marry the person she loved, the quiet, unassuming, untitled, un-wealthy _common_ young man from somewhere else. If she played her cards right, what choice would they have have but to say yes? She never spoke to Jon about what she was doing, not explicitly, because she felt embarrassment over the fact that her parents hadn’t made any further ovations to get to know him after first meeting him, the fact that someone so intelligent and thoughtful had to be advocated for because of aspects of his life over which he had no control, the fact that maybe they didn’t trust her to choose a partner who was up to the rigors of the life she would lead. She had hinted to him, but never outright stated her intent. So they continued being a couple mostly only to themselves. And for a long time, that had been enough. When it had stopped being enough, she wasn’t sure. But in her efforts she had failed to recognize her plan’s fundamental flaw. Success didn’t just depend on her being the perfect princess who made no mistakes. It required perfection from Jon too. Only, he didn’t know anything was expected of him, and in a moment in which he was publicly less than perfect— _human_ , one might say—Sansa saw it all fall apart.

After their fight, she had left his apartment in a mild panic, wondering if after everything, the future they both seemed to want might not be possible. Sansa drove three blocks before pulling over and sobbing for several minutes, not because she thought her relationship was over or because her parents were to blame for the fact that it had stalled out. But because it was clear that s _he_ was to blame. Jon had a lot to learn about being a public figure, but he couldn’t without her help. For all of Sansa’s experience under the microscope, she had never done any of this with a real partner. The press had enjoyed the idea of her and Harry, but that had always been easy for her to ignore because it had never been real. Her love for Jon very much was. Their relationship sometimes felt like the only real thing in her life. Jon had given her what she had always wanted, a sense of normalcy, and she was trying to hang on to that without realizing that doing so was no longer fair to him. Now, for the relationship to have a chance to continue, she had to give the normalcy up—she had to admit, finally, that Jon couldn’t just be hers anymore. Jon Snow had to belong to the public as much as Sansa Stark did. More than that, Sansa couldn’t manage her own fame as well as Jon’s by herself. They had to do it together. There was huge relief in that realization, but also a new kind of fear. She couldn't be just a girl who happened to fall for a boy at uni anymore. She was the crown princess and Jon the man in love with the future queen in the North. 

After getting the tears out of her system, she started her Land Rover again and headed back to the royal residence. When she arrived, she was told that her parents were in the dining room. Walking in, she announced, without bothering to curtsey, “I’d like to go public about Jon.”

Sansa stared at her father’s fork, suspended in midair as it was, inches from his mouth, for the long moment he held it there before setting it down on his plate again. Then, she rolled her eyes as he looked over at her mother before saying, “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Is _he_ sure?” Catelyn asked.

“You’re not, obviously,” was Sansa’s reply.

“It’s a fair question that you didn’t answer,” Ned replied, “and given today’s shenanigans, whether or not he’s sure is of no matter because he’s not ready. My answer is no.”

“You’re right,” Sansa said, skipping over that last sentence. “He’s not ready. And he won’t ever be ready if _we_ don’t help him. How else is he supposed to know whether he’s willing to deal with any of this—how will I know if he can handle it—if I can’t properly show him what this life is?”

“Darling, the press will be merciless,” Catelyn said, “especially after today. Do you really want to subject him to that?”

“So what other option do I get, then? Break it off?” Sansa asked. “Sorry, sweetheart, but for your own good, I can’t ever admit to having been in love with you.”

“It _would_ be for his own good,” Ned said.

“And for the good of monarchy, I’m sure,” Sansa replied bitterly. “Wouldn’t want the Stark line tainted with the blood of a commoner! I know we don’t live in the modern world like everyone else, but are we really that medieval!?!”

“Darling,” Catelyn said, “It’s not about that, _really_. But his background will make everything that much harder. You need to appreciate the veritable gauntlet the press will put him through. It's a hard thing to go through even under the best of circumstances. I know that better than you do because I lived it.”

“I know it won’t be easy for him, but you can’t write him off—you can’t write _me_ off—without letting us at least try.”

Ned rubbed his forehead and let out a sigh. “I don’t know, Sansa.”

Sansa felt tears building in her eyes and took a deep breath to keep them at bay. “You don’t know because you don’t know _him_. The law says you have to approve who I marry, but sadly, it says nothing about you actually being required to get to know the person. I think the least I deserve is due diligence and you haven’t bothered. You’ve barely spoken to him since you met.”

Catelyn watched the staring contest between her husband and daughter and said, “Jon has spoken to you about marriage already?”

“Of course he hasn’t, mother! He’s let me set the pace from the beginning, but I’m not the one setting it. You two are! He and I have been together for three years and we’ve been treading water for half of it! I won’t talk to him about the future until I know that you won’t object. And anyway, how is he supposed to know if he wants to marry me if he doesn’t know what this life really is? He has to live it and to live it means being a public couple. If he hates it so much that he walks away then so be it, but he deserves a chance.”

“So what are you asking, exactly?” Ned asked.

“Well, I thought he could come to Arya’s commissioning.”

“Absolutely not!”

“Ned—” Catelyn tried to cut in.

But Ned pressed on. “Your sister has been working toward this for four years. He shows up and every headline will be about you.”

“Arya won’t mind,” Catelyn said.

“Whether or not she minds is beside the point,” Ned said. “Is that what you want? To steal your sister’s thunder?”

“I don’t make the suggestion lightly,” Sansa said. “Arya is one of two hundred cadets and she doesn’t like being singled out among them. You both know that. She’ll appreciate not having the spotlight squarely on her. I wouldn’t suggest it if I thought it would upset her.”

“She’s right, Ned,” Catelyn said, quietly. “Anyway, a family event would be most appropriate for this sort of thing.”

“Why not sooner, if you’re so eager to share him with the world?” Ned asked.

“This would give him ample time to get comfortable,” Sansa replied. “I’m working on building my staff already anyway. I’ll bring someone on to work with him.”

“No,” Ned cut in. “If we're going to go through with this, Glover should handle it. No doubt this is something he’s already thought out, and if you really want this to work, it needs to come from the top.”

Sansa’s heart jumped into her throat. “All right . . . so is that a yes?”

Ned let out a long sigh. “I’ll call Glover after dinner, if you let us finish it.”

Grinning, Sansa ran over to her father to hug him, which made him laugh, in spite of himself. “Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!”

After, she turned to her mother and did the same.

“Let’s talk more tomorrow, OK?” Catelyn said.

“Go call your sister and make sure it’s all right,” Ned said. “And tell me what she says.”

“I will,” Sansa said.

Sansa called Arya as soon as she got to her room, and of course, Arya agreed immediately, always eager to avoid "the circus" as she called it, but also to get to see the moment everyone saw Sansa and Jon the way she had always gotten to see them. The sisters talked for an hour until Sansa’s phone died, after which, Sansa was so exhausted that she fell back on her bed and promptly fell asleep. The next morning, as soon as she plugged in her phone she heard not only the message Jon had left the night before, but the one he’d left after Glover had apparently left his apartment.

_Hi, it’s Jon. A Mr. Glover came by today to tell me that your family invited me to your sister’s commissioning ceremony, which is either a very elaborate prank or . . . I don’t know. Can we talk, please?_

Annoyed at herself for not anticipating that Glover would ambush Jon (but not surprised he did it), she called Jon back.

When he answered, the words tumbled out of her mouth quickly. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry about everything.”

“San—“

“No, let me get this out.”

“I’m sorry about our fight. I’m sorry that we never talked properly about what it would be like for you being . . . _known_. And that I never offered to help you deal with it. I wanted to keep it at bay as long as possible and just lost sight of things. But I’ve talked to my parents and we’re working it out.”

“So where are we now, exactly? You and me.”

“We’re a couple—a real one. We don’t have to hide it anymore.”

“Really?”

The hopeful lilt in his voice almost brought tears to her eyes. “It’ll be . . . a _process_ , as deliciously romantic as that sounds.”

Jon laughed and Sansa immediately felt good and normal again.

“So, yes, you will be seen with me _and_ my parents. It doesn’t get more official than that.” Sansa paused to take a deep breath. Trying to make light of things, she added, “No matter what happens between us, you will forever be associated with me whether you like it or not.”

“I think you know that I like it very much.”

She sighed. “Me too.”

There was a long quiet moment between them.

“This is when you’ll really find out whether or not going out with a princess worth it,” Sansa said.

“I want to say something in response to that, but maybe I should wait until we’re together.”

“Well, now, I need to know what you’re going to say.”

“I’d like to look at you when I say it.”

“OK, I’m turning my video on even though I look a mess,” she said.

“That’s exactly how I like to look at you,” Jon said with a laugh.

“Please don't patronize me this early in the morning!” Sansa said, laughing too. 

Once they could see each other, Sansa could see that Jon hadn’t gotten himself ready for the day either.

“Aren't you going to work?” she asked.

“I took a personal day,” he responded. “Tormund and Grenn would have been merciless after my performance for the cameras yesterday. Mance left a nice message, though.”

“Oh, what did he say?”

“Fuck those assholes.”

Sansa laughed, throwing her head back.

Jon laughed too. “He also said, ‘Shake it off and come back tomorrow like nothing happened.’”

“Good advice. I’m afraid the attention is only going to get bigger.”

“I should probably—“

“Yes, tell him,” Sansa said quickly. “Maybe they can set up a different entrance for you to come in to the library.”

“OK.”

Taking a deep breath, she said, “What was it that you wanted to say while looking at me?”

He chuckled. “I fell in love with a person, not a princess. Everything else is circumstance.”

Sansa felt herself warm all over, like she knew everything would be OK. That Jon could always manage to make her feel that way was a kind of magic she would never take for granted. “Just remember that whatever happens, I want you to be happy," she said, "so if it all gets to be too much, you can . . . you can walk away.”

He smiled. “You may be the one who wants to walk away when I tell you the first thing Mr. Glover said I had to do.”

“What’s that?”

“Get a hair cut.”

* * *

Because Arya and Robb were at Castle Black together, Robb found out about “the rollout” from Arya that same morning and proceeded to let everyone on the First Pembroke text group in on the news. Jon offered confirmation and shared Glover’s directive that to be Sansa’s boyfriend, he had to look the part.

**_Jon:_ ** _First order of business: short hair_

Margaery responded right away, not missing a beat.

**_Margaery:_** _This calls for a party, so clear your Friday, darlings. Leave everything to me. Including the hair cut, Jon Snow. And the clothes-buying. I’ll call you to schedule._

**_Jon_** : _do I have a say in any of this?_

**_Jeyne_ ** _: No!_

**_Jeyne_ ** _: Margaery and I may or may not have been planning this moment since we met you._

**_Sansa_ ** _: Do * I * have a say?_

**_Margaery_ ** _: Do you two not know me or trust me?_

That part of Margaery’s plans came to include a “reveal” for Sansa was not initially met with agreement on Sansa’s part, but the group managed to talk her into it.

Margaery’s invitations had been delivered Thursday morning, complete with a mop-like wig of dark curls. How she had managed to find a dozen of them on only a couple of day’s notice was a mystery to everyone. But Margaery was determined to give Jon’s trademark locks a proper send off and here Sansa was at Margaery’s on Friday night as promised to get the first look at her boyfriend’s new haircut, which he had gotten that morning.

She rubbed her eyes to wake herself up. Once out of the car, the protection officer met her at the door with her overnight bag. Before she had the chance to ring the bell, the door opened and much to Sansa’s delight Gilly was on the other side of it.

“What are you doing here?” she asked pulling Gilly into a hug.

“Jon asked Margaery to invite me for moral support, and I never miss an opportunity to see how the other half lives.”

Sansa bit her lip nervously. “Oh, Gods, is it OK? How does he look?”

Gilly’s shoulders sagged. “Honestly? He looks _better_.”

Sansa laughed, relaxing a bit. “You think so?”

“I hate him. Truly.”

“Join the club!” came a voice from the phone Gilly was holding.

She laughed, “Oh, this is Sam. He’s been keeping me company so to speak while I kept an eye out for you.”

Sansa gestured for Gilly to give her the phone and spoke into it, “Hi, Sam. Wish you were here with us!”

“I’ve had plenty of nights watching people swoon over Jon, so I’m OK where I am.”

“Well, visit soon, please!”

“I’ll do my best.”

Handing the phone back to Gilly, Sansa said, “I’ll let you two keep talking.”

“Oh, no,” Gilly said. “It’s high time I stop avoiding being social.”

After she said her goodbyes to Sam, Gilly turned to Sansa, “So, you ready?”

Eyeing the sitting area just off the grand foyer, Sansa said, “Actually, let’s avoid for a little longer. I fell asleep in the car, and even I need a warm up with this crowd.”

As they sat down, Gilly asked. “They’re mostly your Winterfell friends, right?”

“Mostly,” Sansa said with a sign. “At least, Theon, Jeyne and Alys are here. The rest are more Marge’s friends than mine. I told her no more than a dozen people, but her definition of a small and intimate gathering is no fewer than fifty. If it’s the crowd I’m thinking, I’ve known most of them forever, but I know they can be a handful, especially when Margaery’s serving the drinks.”

“It’s been fun, and not many more than a dozen, to be honest. I just hadn’t had a chance to talk to Sam all week, and I think he wanted to hear from me that Jon was OK with everything.”

“Is he?” Sansa asked. “We both wanted to take this step, but ‘Change your appearance, move out of your flat and tell your mother and sister they can never talk to strangers again’ was a much heavier burden than I was expecting he would have to take on this fast. I think the staff is making it intentionally difficult on him, which is a whole other conversation.”

“So how’s this week been for _you_? I know everyone’s focused on Jon because he’s the Eliza Doolittle, but I imagine this isn’t easy for you either.”

Sansa laughed. “You’re the first person to ask me that.”

“Well, your staff aren’t doing a good job then. I schedule mental health checks for the boss in my calendar _and_ hers. Otherwise, it’s hell for everyone.”

“I wish you could come work for me,” Sansa said rubbing her face with her hands. “This week has been intense, but it’s not because of Jon. It’s because the staff are doing something _I_ have asked them to do, which they have never had to do before. Most of them have worked for my parents for my whole life so they look at me like I’m still a child. Every time I say something or make a request, they look over at my mother as if they need to make sure it’s _really_ OK.”

“That sounds tough,” Gilly said, quietly. “I can’t even imagine.”

Sansa sat up suddenly and said, “Would you like to?”

“What?” Gilly replied, confused.

“Come work for me!”

“Are you serious?”

“Completely!” Sansa stood, smiling. “I can’t believe I just now thought of this, but it’s perfect.”

Gilly stood too. “Sansa, I don’t know what to say . . . I would have no idea what I’d be doing.”

“I’ve been working for my mother since we graduated. Eventually, I have to strike out on my own, establish my own foundation and patronages, my own staff. I’ve been getting help from the office to do that so I could roll it out for my 25th birthday, but working with those people is like pulling teeth. And this week with Jon! Getting him up to speed should be easy, but Mr. Glover has to go and show up at your doorstep first thing like that's a normal way of doing anything.”

“Yeah, he was . . . odd.”

“It’s just one mind game after another with that man. He needs to assert himself as the person in charge so he set Jon up to look foolish and unprepared at the start. This is only going to work for us if we have people we can trust.”

“I did made Jon a binder to help him keep everything straight. He’s not a disorganized person _per se_. But I agree that he’ll need someone in his corner and I make binders in my sleep.”

Sansa chuckled. “Anticipating our needs before we do, it’s like you’re doing the job already.”

Gilly laughed, but Sansa could tell there was a bit of nervousness behind it.

“I apologize for dumping all that anxiety on your about my family-slash-job. Never work for your parents.”

Gilly laughed. “If only we could always follow our own advice, right?”

“If only.”

“Look, how about you make me a proper offer,” Gilly said. “Let’s have a meeting that doesn't involve me drinking wine and talk through what it would really look like. If nothing else, I’ll help you figure out what you need. Be prepared to pay up, though. I just took a seminar or negotiating for what I’m worth.”

Sansa laughed and pulled Gilly into another hug. “You are worth everything!”

Pulling back, Gilly said, “Are you ready now?”

“Yes, and I could use some wine myself. By the way, I’m sorry he’s going to have to leave you in the lurch, with regard to your lease. I can cover the extra rent.”

“It’s fine,” Gilly said, waving her off. “Dad was never crazy about the idea of me living with a man, no matter how many times I told him Jon was just a friend. I have a friend from Hardhome whose lease is about to end, so I think it’ll actually work out just right.”

Sansa smiled. “Good.”

The two made their way down a long hallway to the drawing room where Margaery had a bar set up. Just enough people had been invited to the gathering that, just one week prior, Sansa would have felt nervous about making things “too obvious.” And while they still weren’t the type to overtly display their affection, there was a sweet relief in no longer having to pretend.

Before they stepped in Gilly took Sansa’s arm. “I’m sure you’ll hate this but I was given strict instructions.”

Sansa rolled her eyes and laughed on seeing the blindfold in Gilly’s hand. “I’m going to kill her,” Sansa said, but still put it on.

“OK, everyone, she’s here,” Gilly said, and Sansa felt her guiding her into the room.

A second later, she heard Jeyne next to her, taking her other arm.

“I apologize ahead of time, but Marge insisted on the blindfold, and also, you don't have to worry about your reaction because he looks really good.”

“I’ve already told her,” Gilly said.

“I appreciate the reassurance, but I’d like to make up my own mind.”

Both Gilly and Jeyne laughed. “Oh, and it’s just us and Theon in here,” Jeyne added, “in case you’re wondering. Margaery told Alys to herd everyone else into the dining room in case there were tears.”

“I thought you said it looked good!”

“You know me, darling,” Margaery spoke up. “I plan for every contingency.”

Sansa felt her back meet someone else’s and realized that this was Jon, who immediately took her hand.

“Hi!” she said.

“When I said I wanted to hold your hand outside of my apartment, this isn’t exactly what I had in mind.”

Sansa laughed and felt at ease again.

“Drumroll please!” Margaery said.

“For fuck’s sake, Margaery!” Jon said.

“All right, all right,” Margaery said. “Nobody appreciates drama anymore.”

Just like that Sansa felt the blindfold being pulled off and she turned and there was Jon. His sweet smile on his face and she was so close to him and happy to see that smile and the crinkles in his eyes that she genuinely forgot to notice his hair.

“So . . . ?” he offered gently.

She stepped back and took his face in her hands. He looked good. _Really_ good. Gorgeous. (Of course, he did.) Sansa felt sincerely like she fell in love again at first sight in that moment. Not because of what he now looked like. (Though, yes—Seven Hells—he looked _great_.) But because how willingly he had done it. How ready he was to jump into the stress of her life with both feet so they could be together. Sansa felt silly seeing any romance in it, but she couldn’t help herself.

“I love it and you,” she said, grinning, and jerked him into a hug, which he welcomed, lifting her slightly off her feet.

Sansa got pulled out of the moment when she felt Theon wrap his arms around both. “This is beautiful. I fucking love love.”

Sansa cackled at the sight of Theon wearing the ridiculous wig Margaery had given them all. “That doesn’t even look like his hair,” Sansa said pulling it off.

“Whatever,” Theon replied, taking it out of her hands. “I’m saving this for my stag night.”

Everyone laughed, and the group went into the dining room to sit down for dinner.

Later that night, when Sansa and Jon were snuggled up under the covers in one of the guests rooms, both still slightly tipsy from all the cocktails, she couldn’t stop running her fingers through his now much shorter hair.

“You hate it,” he said with a laugh.

“I’m just trying to get used to it. I do love this, I just . . . also really loved your long hair. I’m letting myself mourn a little.”

Jon laughed again.

“Do _you_ hate it?” she asked quietly.

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“It feels a little weird. I haven’t had hair this short since I was twelve. Mr. Glover had initially asked for a shave too, but I told him that’s how old I would look without facial hair. Thankfully, Margaery agreed and she talked him down.”

“I’m glad she was there with you.”

“Yeah, me too. Although, I suppose I might be singing a different tune when she takes me shopping next week.”

“There’s nothing wrong with your wardrobe, no matter what any of them say.”

“I can’t afford much, so the change won’t be _that_ drastic, but most of what I own I have from college. Upgrading so I look more like a responsible adult is not a bad idea. The apartment upgrade is going to be the hard part.”

“It’s also the most unreasonable ask,” Sansa said, pouting. “There’s absolutely nothing wrong with where you live!”

“Actually, Jeyne’s dad called me about it yesterday. He said there are real security risks to being in a garden level, and once he explained them, it made sense.”

Sansa sat up on her elbow. “Like what?”

“Since you have to walk down to the door, a gaggle of photographers could wait on the sidewalk and essentially trap us in. The egress windows have wells someone could climb down into and take pictures of my bedroom—he had a long list. It made me feel lucky that nobody has discovered it yet, and I’m guessing he’ll tell you you’re not allowed over until I move when you talk to him next.”

“Ugh. Well, you need to find one soon then.”

Jon chuckled. “I’ve been texting Robb all week. He suggested just moving in with Theon until he and Jeyne get married. That would buy me a few months.”

“That’s not a bad idea,” Sansa replied.

“Still, no privacy though.”

“I’ll just convince Jeyne to have him over at hers as often as possible.”

“I wish I didn’t feel like other people were always bailing me out.”

Sansa smiled and leaned down to kiss him. “They’re helping you, helping _us_. That’s what friends do.”

“Does that mean we have to name one of our kids after Theon?”

Sansa burst out laughing. “Maybe we can just put a statue of him in the gardens.”

Jon laughed too. "I'm sure he'd like that."

Sansa snuggled back into his chest, tucking her head under his chin. 

“Do you think about having kids?” she asked quietly.

“I do,” he whispered back.

“How many?”

“I don’t know . . . two at least. You?”

“Three.”

“An heir and two spares?”

Sansa giggled. “Yes. Two girls and a boy—actually gender doesn't really matter. But all of them must have long curly hair I can run my fingers through.”

His arms tightened around her shoulders and she reached for his hand to pull it into her chest.

* * *

The following week, both Jon and Sansa met with Mya Stone, the assistant communications director in Queen Catelyn’s office. Sansa had asked to meet with her privately for advice. Mya ran Her Majesty’s official social media accounts and was one of the few people Sansa liked working with. She was also only a few years older than Sansa and had a much better understanding of how younger people communicated than Glover, who was downright dictatorial when it came to releasing information. Even though her time as queen was still decades away, Sansa was determined to push the monarchy into modernity—make it an institution that could be seen as vital and accessible, rather than merely an immovable monument to olden times. It would be the only way she would be allowed to live the life she wanted.

Her first suggestion came as a surprise, especially to Jon: “We need to get pictures of your two out in the press.”

“I don’t understand,” he said. “Isn’t the whole point to avoid the cameras?”

“Yes,” Mya said, “for the most part. But people need to warm up to the idea of you first. Otherwise, it’ll blow up in our faces.”

“How so?” Sansa asked.

“Well, you’ve probably heard of this before in a different context, but take a frog. You try to drop it in boiling water and it jumps right out, but you put it in water that the frog is comfortable with and start turning up the heat and it doesn’t notice.”

“Am I the frog being cooked in this scenario?” Jon asked with a skeptical frown that made Sansa chuckle and take his hand in hers.

“No,” Mya said with a smile. “Perhaps a better analogy is that good public opinion has to be courted properly. The monarchy represents stability—too much change too soon and people worry. You may not think your relationship represents change, but it does.”

“So what do you suggest?” Sansa asked. “My feeling is that most people know about Jon already.”

“They do, but your relationship is just an assumption. The public knows he's in your life. They _think_ he’s your boyfriend. They don’t _know_ it yet. They have to know it before they know it’s serious, which is what the two of you standing with the King and Queen would signify. We can’t just show up at what will be considered a major press event without preamble and expect there not to be some blowback. It would be like proposing to a girl you’ve just met. Even if she said yes, the suddenness of it would be jarring. Let’s start with giving her flowers."

"What would that entail?" Jon asked.

"I have just the thing.”

Sansa and Jon looked at each other as Mya pulled something up on her laptop. She turned it so they could both see what it was: the event webpage for the annual Friends of the White Harbor Library Gala, which was in three weeks.

“The queen always sponsors a table at this event but never actually attends,” Mya said. “She doesn’t like burdening these smaller groups with the additional security.”

“I don’t want to do that either,” Sansa said.

“I’ll work with Mr. Poole to make the detail as small and unobtrusive as possible. The event is usually in the library atrium, but they’ve moved it to a private venue this year. That helps.”

“Maintenance to the glass roof is taking longer than anticipated this year,” Jon put in. “The noise has been a nightmare.”

“It’s the perfect opportunity because it’s on Mr. Snow’s turf, so to speak. It will bring attention to his work and the fact that it’s associated with Northern history. People will love that. It would be like Your Highness is attending as a date to a work function.”

“You did mention meeting your coworkers,” Sansa said wryly.

Jon couldn’t help but laugh. “Black tie isn’t quite their scene, but I appreciate the sentiment. I know at least Val and Mance are going. Can _we_ , though, when it’s so soon? And won't there be questions from the press?”

“I have family friends on the library board,” Mya said. “I’ll assure them that the additional publicity will help with their fundraising goals—that’s usually what happens. When cameras show up, cash follows. That's the other reason the monarchy is valuable. It highlights worthy causes. And yes, we'll get questions, but we still won't officially confirm anything. The answer will just shift from no to no comment, which says a lot in itself. It will affirm the idea that you're together and give people space to absorb it before we give the full confirmation, which would be the king's official approval. It's a stepping stone, but an important one, in my view, in the path toward acceptance."

“Who will we sit with?” Sansa asked. “I’m happy to invite Margaery’s checkbook.”

Mya laughed. “Usually it’s a dozen to a table. I’ll fill half of it with people known to the foundation and you can choose the rest. There will be photographers, obviously, and anything they’ll get of you, Your Highness, will be put front and center. Then, the blogs will pick it up and they’ll do the work for us. Not everyone will find out since not everyone follows the royal family that closely, but enough people will that Mr. Snow's appearance with the family in May will be a surprise, but not a shock. The distinction is important, and it will work in your favor.”

“I hate to ask,” Sansa said, with a roll of her eyes, “but will Mr. Glover go along with this? He hasn’t been nearly this helpful.”

“I can take the plan to Her Majesty. Technically, the invitation to the gala came to her office, and it’s my duty to respond, so I’m not stepping out of rank—not exactly.”

“Let me talk to her first,” Sansa said. “You’ll be putting yourself in the line of fire with him, regardless, and she of all people will understand that. I really appreciate this, Ms. Stone.”

“Me too,” Jon said.

“May I be candid?” Mya asked, looking back and forth between the two.

Both Jon and Sansa nodded, in response.

“I used to love princess stories when I was young. Snow White and Cinderella being plucked from the clutches of their evil stepmothers by a handsome prince—that’s how it always was. The girl became a princess by marrying the prince. And then a few years ago, when my nieces were born, I noticed that the tables had turned. In Tangled and Frozen, Rapunzel and Princess Anna were princesses already and they got to pick who they loved. They both fall in love with common boys whose character journeys are figuring out that all they want is to help the girl. That's the story of the modern princess."

Sansa looked over at Jon and noticed that his cheeks were slightly red, so she squeezed his hand in hers and he looked over to her with an embarrassed smile.

"Sorry for being long winded. My point is that before, the castle was the prize. These days, _love_ is the aspiration, and if you, Your Highness, are meant to provide steadiness and normalcy, how better to have reached that aspiration than in the most ordinary and relatable of circumstances: falling in love with a friend from university. That's my way of saying that the world is more than ready for you two. And I genuinely want to help.”

Sansa grinned. “Thank you." After a pause she added, "Enchanted was always my favorite.”

* * *

**Three months later**

The family had been welcomed into the Lord Commander’s offices to wait for the start of the ceremony. It was customary for the King to make an official inspection of every class, so the ceremony was old hat to Ned. The only difference was that his daughter would be among them. He and the Lord Commander had attended Castle Black together so they were old friends. The two were chatting idly now and though Sansa couldn’t hear everything they were saying from across the room, she could guess from his smile that Ned was being told what an exemplary cadet Arya had been. Sansa smiled thinking how excited Arya was to be done, at least in part because it meant that for the next two years, as a second lieutenant, she would outrank Robb and planned to remind him of it every day she could.

Next to her on the sofa she was sitting on, she felt the persistent bounce of Jon’s knee. The dark blue of his suit complimented the dress she was wearing, though its floral pattern was only slightly visible under the coat she had over it. Sliding her hand over his, she whispered, “You don’t need to be nervous. We don’t have anything to do except sit there and watch.”

Jon smiled. “I’m not sure why I am. We’re not really breaking news anymore, but it still feels like . . . a step.”

Sansa sighed. “It is.”

"Don't worry about me. It's just butterflies."

She looked around the room for a moment. Her mother was speaking to another officer. Biting her lip, Sansa took Jon’s hand and quietly led him out of the room and into a the narrow hallway that led to the front of the building, from which the group would proceed in a few minutes so the family could take their seats and the commissioning ceremony would begin. She took both of Jon’s hands in hers and took a deep breath.

“Are _you_ nervous?” he asked.

“I suppose. When we step outside those doors . . . I know Mya characterized it as nothing more than going from being a couple in the public eye’s to be being a _serious_ couple in the public's eye.” Sansa chuckled and shook her head, not quite able to meet Jon’s eyes. “That feels like semantics, but . . . the assumption people will start to make about us now is that we’re getting married. You know, someday . . . soon . . . ish. To an extent that’s why my parents were so hesitant to do this for so long. Their approval means just that. Their approval of what’s logically next for us. So if that feels like too big a step, then—“

“Why else would I be here, Sansa, If I didn’t want to marry you.”

Sansa’s eyes jerked up again to meet his. His expression was serious, but soft, sincere.

“Really?” she squeaked.

“Why else would I have gone through all this if it wasn’t for the sake of us having a future together—I mean, this isn’t a proposal, but that possibility . . . that _likelihood_ is the reason I’m here. If it’s not the reason you’re here, then tell me, and I won’t step out those doors with you.”

“Are you two ready?”

Sansa turned to see her mother there.

“It’s time,” Catelyn said.

Sansa looked back at Jon and tightened her grip on his hands, both of their eyes shining. “Yes, we’re ready.”

The Lord Commander and the King stepped into the hallway, and Catelyn moved aside to give them room, before following. Sansa and Jon, hand in hand, followed her. The group stopped just before the doors opened, and Catelyn looked back and her gaze shifted down to Sansa and Jon’s joined hands.

Sansa rolled her eyes and let go, but exchanged smiles with Jon as soon as Catelyn was looking forward again. She touched her fascinator to make sure the pins were still secure. She noticed Jon tugging slightly at his cufflinks and then rolling his shoulders. Then, a steward stepped ahead of the party. 

Sansa felt the breeze of the Northern spring on her face when the steward opened the doors, and she took a deep, cleansing breath of it.

As she and Jon stepped forward, the kids who had secretly fallen in love at Winterfell University were left behind.

**Author's Note:**

> The title of the story comes from a line in the Lifetime movie about William and Kate, where after William tells her he loves her, she responds, "I love the you only I get to see." I never actually saw the movie (the line was in the trailer, which I did watch), and I'm really not as much of a royal follower as this story might suggest, but it's a sweet sentiment even if fictional. I also wholeheartedly recommend The Royal We, which is a fun, romantic read.


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